


You're the One that I Want

by xTimexTurnerx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Musicals, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTimexTurnerx/pseuds/xTimexTurnerx
Summary: Bellarke High-School!AUWhen Bellamy gets in one too many fights, Principal Jaha makes himself clear: become part of the campus community or risk expulsion. Enter Clarke Griffin stage left, the Arcadia High drama queen is less than pleased to share the spotlight with someone as nonchalant and disobedient as Bellamy Blake. With her tutelage, can Bellamy graduate high school? And more importantly, will the show go on?





	1. An Ultimatum

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my AU High School/ musical theater geek 100 fic! Any references to Grease or The 100 I do not own. Please leave comments, this is my first 100 fic!

**Chapter One: An Ultimatum**

“Did you forget lunch money?” Bellamy gestured to the empty table as he plopped his lunch tray down next to his younger sister, Octavia. He was glad to have an excuse to pester her; she was sitting alone in the crowded cafeteria and knew she would not accept his presence without an excuse. 

Octavia rolled her eyes. “I have money, I’m just not hungry. Can you please move?” 

Bellamy bit into his apple as a response. 

“Okay, then I guess I’ll move.” Octavia stood up and swung her more stylish than functional leather backpack over her shoulder. She waved to a small group of girls, other sophomores at school, and started to walk toward them. Bellamy felt better. 

“Nice ass,” a male voice called as it crossed behind his sister’s path. Bellamy nearly cricked his neck looking around for the culprit. Then he saw him. John Murphy. The resident school scumbag was swaggering away as if he hadn’t just catcalled a female student two years his junior. Bellamy pushed his lunch away and stood up. 

“Bell!” Octavia attempted to grab Bellamy’s shoulder as he bellowed past her but her voice sounded light in his roaring ears. 

“Hey, Murphy!” John turned around in time to match his cheek with Bellamy’s right hook. John stumbled back a few steps and Bellamy sunk a fist into his flank before he had the chance to straighten. By now, the entire quad realized they had lunch time entertainment and started to gather around the two boys.  
Murphy clutched his side and squared his shoulders to retaliate. Before he had the chance, two campus security monitors reached the scene. The officers broke through the circle of students and gripped each of the boys, pinning their arms at their sides. 

“To the Dean’s Office! Now!” A phrase Bellamy was quite used to hearing by his senior year at Arcadia High School. He caught Octavia’s eyes as he walked past and she looked furious. Bellamy had the decency to dip his eyes to the floor. He could care less about what Dean Kane had to say to him, or what the student body had to say about him, but Octavia’s opinion was the only one that mattered to him. He desperately tried to be a role model for her, and sometimes that meant standing up to creeps. 

After waiting an hour in the busy office (two girl fights were ahead of him, and he winced when he saw one student missing a chunk of her hair in the back), the same security guard appeared before him. “Cummon, Blake. We’re going to the Principal.”

Bellamy was surprised. High and mighty Principal Jaha rarely came out of his office or interacted with students. Bellamy was pretty sure Jaha was biding his time until he could run for some education board or office. At the very least it would be a change of pace from Dean Kane’s loud lectures.  
When they reached the office, Bellamy was immediately ushered in. Principal Jaha had his fingertips pressed together like a wise wizard. He nodded to the security officer and then the door shut. 

“Well, Mr. Blake. You’ve accumulated quite the record.” Bellamy stayed silent, trying to size up the older man. 

“Including today that makes three fights this year, two suspensions. Last year, five incidents, one suspension. Sophomore year, four writes ups and three in-school suspensions. Freshman year, eight incidents.” Bellamy had never heard his infamous statistics rattled off before and tried to figure out if they made him feel repentance. 

Nope. 

“I’m not sure if you understand how precarious your situation is, Bellamy. Arcadia High has expelled students for much less. With your record and how deep we are into your senior year, I doubt another school would take you.”

Bellamy’s pulse quickened. Although Dean Kane was repetitive, they had a rapport. Kane always went relatively easy on Bellamy. Principal Jaha did not look forgiving and for the first time, Bellamy was worried he wouldn’t obtain his high school diploma. 

“My grades—“ Bellamy began. 

“Are good. Excellent, in fact. Which tells me you aren’t stupid. You are making choices, and bad ones at that. I think you need a change in environment, Bellamy. You’ve never joined a club, sport, or been involved on our campus.”

“I work after school.” Which was true; Bellamy worked five hours after school each day and weekends. Someone had to support the household if his mother wasn’t willing to. 

“Good. Working instills responsibility. But you have a choice: join a campus program or be expelled. If you contribute to our school, perhaps you will be less willing to break our rules.” 

Bellamy sighed. “Which program?”

“I was hoping for a sport to get out your… physical energy. However, winter sports have already held tryouts… The drama department is about to hold auditions for the school musical.”

Bellamy chuckled. “I don’t act. Or sing. Or dance.”

“This may be perfect for you then. Get you to try something new.” Principal Jaha smiled serenely. 

“You’re joking?”

“No, Bellamy. I am not joking. But, the choice is yours. You can try and be a part of something, or be expelled. Without a diploma and without a regard for rules, my bet is that you would be arrested within a year. What example would that set for your sister?”

Bellamy’s eyes flashed. Jaha was intelligent and he knew Bellamy’s weaknesses. Everything Bellamy did was for Octavia. Most of his “incidents” were from defending Octavia in some way. “Fine.”

“Wonderful. I’ll let Mrs. Green know. And beware, Bellamy. She will be reporting to me regularly. If you cause trouble, miss a practice, or act destructive, you will no longer be a student at Arcadia High School.”


	2. An Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is surprised and concerned to see Bellamy Blake at the school musical auditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptive sexual acts.

**Chapter Two: An Audition**

“Are you sure your mom isn’t coming home?”

“My mom is never home,” Clarke reminded Finn. Regardless, he stilled his hands which had moments before been unbuttoning Clarke’s blouse. Clarke picked her phone out of her back pocket, opened the iCal application and held it up to Finn’s eye level. “See? ‘Deposition until 8:00pm.’ She thinks linking our calendars will make us more linked.” Clarke rolled her eyes as she tucked the phone away. “So, where were we?”

Finn grinned and undid the remaining buttons, pushing the shirt off Clarke’s shoulders as quickly as he could. Clarke planted her lips on Finn’s neck and enjoyed hearing the small changes in breathing he let out as she worked her way to his collar bone. 

Finn was a fuckboy; Clarke knew this. He was on-again off-again with his ex- girlfriend Raven Reyes, who was a senior at their rival school, Azgeda High School. They referred to themselves as “Ice Nation” because their mascot was the penguin. Barf. In Clarke’s opinion they were the stupider, and less put together version of Arcadia. What Finn loved about Raven Clarke wasn’t sure; whenever they were “dating” they were fighting constantly. And sure enough, whenever Raven was out of the picture, Finn would text Clarke. 

But there were a few good qualities to Finn. He was easy to talk to, a good listener. And then there were moments like these—

“Yes, harder.” Clarke panted out and Finn delivered. Once Finn was assured Mrs. Griffin wasn’t coming home for five hours, he proceeded to tease Clarke right there in the kitchen until she bent herself over the counter and guided him inside her. 

The cool tile against Clarke’s nipples had her skin erupt in goosebumps. Finn raked his hand down Clarke’s back and dug his nails into her waist. 

“I’m gunna cum,” he got out before pumping erratically into her for a few moments. Once he stilled, he slipped out of her and pulled off the condom with a nearby paper towel. Clarke’s skin felt like it was on fire. She had been so close. She unfolded herself and turned around to Finn. “Round two?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. 

He smirked, “That’s my girl.” 

After a more personally satisfying round of sex, Clarke kicked Finn out of her house. She enjoyed their physical relationship and occasionally found herself dangerously close to catching feelings for him, but he was too unreliable. Clarke wanted Finn if Finn didn’t want Raven, and she knew some part of him still did. Plus, she needed to review her song for auditions the next day. 

Clarke had been practicing for weeks; Grease was her favorite musical as a girl and she was thrilled Mrs. Green had picked this as her senior show. Although Sandy’s bubbly personality wasn’t relatable for Clarke, she still wanted the role. Sandy was iconic; not to mention it would look great on her theater resume she wanted to ship out to performing art programs next week. 

Clarke was also fairly certain she would get the role. She spent so much time building sets and making costumes freshman year to get on Mrs. Green’s good side and it worked. Clarke starred in the fall play and spring musical each year, usually beside her best friend, Wells. 

The following afternoon, Clarke walked into the auditorium feeling prepared and confident. She signed her name on the audition roster and was happy to see she would be going last; she liked to leave an impression. Clarke was scanning over the list again to get a sense of her competition when someone bumped into her. Clarke turned around. “Lexa.”

“Clarke.” The brunette’s eyes were rimmed with kohl and she had dingy rings on each finger. Clarke was positive Lexa bumped into her on purpose. 

“What are you auditioning for?” 

“None of your damn business.” Clarke nodded once, _message received,_ and let Lexa pass her. Lexa and Clarke secretly dated for a few months the previous school year. The relationship ended because Lexa started falling in with a different crowd; the kids who ditched school constantly, wore all black and were high every day. Clarke stayed the same and Lexa changed, simple. But Lexa did not take kindly to being broken up with and still harbored a grudge toward Clarke. 

“That looked pleasant,” Wells commented sarcastically when Clarke sat down next to him. 

“It always is.” 

“Welcome, everyone! I’m so excited to see you all here for auditions, we’re going to put on a fantastic show.” Mrs. Green was an Asian woman in her middle forties. Her son, Monty, attended Arcadia High School but was a grade below Clarke and deeply invested in the robotics program; their paths never crossed. Mrs. Green was kind to those she liked, but also could be tough and demanding. 

“When I call your name—“ the loud theater door blast open, streaming sunlight into the dark room. “Ah, Mr. Blake. I was starting to wonder if we would be graced with your presence. Come sign in and then grab a seat, please. As I was saying…”

Clarke’s eyes fixated on the back of Bellamy’s head. _Bellamy Blake? Auditioning for the school musical? Why?_ Bellamy had never shown an interest for the drama club before this, or anything at Arcadia. Bellamy and Clarke shared several classes together because he was surprisingly intelligent, but he was constantly absent due to his nonchalance or multiple suspensions for fighting. 

“Did you know he was trying out?” Wells whispered. Clarke shook her head. 

“Harper!” Mrs. Green called. The girl’s cheeks colored brilliantly. Clarke heard Harper was dating Monty, which must make auditioning significantly more intimidating. Sure enough, Harper’s voice was quiet for several bars in her song before clearing into her regular soprano. 

Clarke tuned most of the auditions out, running her song over and over in her head. She did focus when Wells was on stage, applauding when he finished. Wells had a great vocal range, but tended to fall flat when holding longer notes. _Easily fixed,_ Clarke justified. It would be fun to star in her final high school show with Wells. Although it would be more challenging to pretend to be in love with him… that’s why they called it acting, right?

“Clarke!” she snapped out of her thoughts and automatically propelled herself toward the stage. She took a deep breath before beginning. She sang “A Heart Full of Love” from Les Miserables, where she starred as Cosette last year. When she finished the room applauded… except for the hooded figure at the end of the first row. 

“Bellamy!” Mrs. Green called. Apparently Clarke was not last. The hooded figure stood up and Clarke brushed past Bellamy in his black hoodie under a black leather jacket. He also was wearing grey jeans and blue Vans; Bellamy and Lexa looked like they shared a stylist. 

“I didn’t know I needed to prepare a song,” he said flatly. Clarke rejoined Wells in the audience. 

“That’s all right. How about the 'Star Spangled Banner?' I just need to get a sense of your range.”

“My what?” 

Clarke snickered.

“Your vocal range—how high and low you can sing. Okay, on my count, 1, 2, 3…” Mrs. Green started playing the piano and Bellamy turned until his back was facing  
the audience and he was singing directly to the theater director. Clarke was ready and willing to make fun of him, but when his voice filled the room she came up short. 

Bellamy’s voice was clear, supported and he hit each note, high and low alike. Granted, he didn’t hold any note out to its full time, but that was easily fixable. _Possibly more fixable than being flat…_

When Bellamy finished, the auditorium rested in stunned silence for a moment before clapping. Who knew Bellamy Blake, the skateboarder who punched kids for looking at him wrong, had raw musical talent? Mrs. Green also looked shocked, but recovered quickly to look pleased. Bellamy turned around and kept his eyes down, exiting the stage quickly and returning to his seat. 

“All right, can I have all my males on stage please!” Mrs. Green took the men and showed them a short movement combination. Bellamy stood in the back of the small group with his arms folded as they practiced. When it came time for them to individually audition the dance, he originally refused. However, one harsh look from Mrs. Green made him change his mind. While his dancing wasn’t as fantastic as his singing, he had an innate sense of bodily awareness and movement, probably from skateboarding, that most of the weirder, nerdier boys lacked. Clarke found herself watching Bellamy more than anyone. 

When it was the girl’s turn, Clarke breezed through the auditions, haven taken several years of jazz, ballet, and tap lessons. 

“Thank you! If I call your name, please stay and if I don’t, please exit the auditorium immediately. Clarke, Lexa, Harper, Emory, Wells, Jasper, and Bellamy please stay behind. Everyone else, the cast list will be posted tomorrow at lunch. Good luck!” Mrs. Green waited a moment for the room to clear. “Right, I would like to have you all read some scenes for me. Bellamy and Wells, could you read for Sandy and Danny?”

Clarke grinned, “of course.” Reading with Wells was easy, even though he felt too preppy to be Danny. Maybe it was because his dad was the principal, or maybe it was because Clarke had known him since they were kindergarteners together, but she couldn’t see him seriously pulling off the “bad boy” image.

“Thank you. How about… Bellamy and Lexa. Could you read for Rizzo and Kenickie?” 

They began the scene and Bellamy read each line deadpan with his head buried in the script until—

“Mr. Blake, are you trying to be bad at this?”

“No, I think it comes naturally.” The students chuckled. 

“Clarke, can you change with Lexa please? Wells, please hand the Danny scene to Bellamy. Let’s try you as Danny, Bellamy.” 

Clarke saw Wells’ eyes narrow. She walked back onto stage and plopped next to Bellamy. “Try to think of the character. Danny is too cool for school and doesn’t want to participate, something you probably relate to.” The advice came out as a rush and Bellamy grinned. 

“Thanks, princess.”

Clarke bristled. “I’m not—“

“Act like a princess, are a princess.” He said simply and Clarke’s cheeks grew red. 

Mrs. Green was watching the pair intently. “The scene, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes,” Clarke said quickly and began her first line. Bellamy was better this time, much better. And as they finished the scene, Clarke panicked for the first time that her perfect vision of senior year may be compromised. Because Wells wasn’t going to be cast as Danny. Bellamy was.


	3. A Cast List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast list for Arcadia's spring musical is posted and more than one person is upset by the results.

Chapter Three: A Cast List

 **Arcadia High School Drama Department  
** Grease Cast List  
Sandy… Clarke Griffin  
Danny… Bellamy Blake  
Rizzo… Lexa Trikru  
Kenickie… Jasper Jordan  
Frenchy… Harper McIntyre  
Roger… Wells Jaha

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Bellamy said in disbelief as he checked the cast list during lunch. 

“Isn’t that like, the biggest part?” his friend Nathan asked him pointing to ‘Danny.’ 

Bellamy nodded and Nathan laughed. “You are screwed.” 

Bellamy shoved Nathan off and let his new reality sink in: he was cast as Danny. This seemingly easy punishment was turning into an encompassing task. He had no idea why he was cast, he had never done drama before. Wells should have gotten the part, and he grimaced thinking of Clarke’s reaction. She was going to be pissed.  
“Later,” Bellamy said to Nathan and headed to the theater. He threw open the doors and climbed onstage to try and find Mrs. Green to talk her out of this insane choice. The theater was creepy without students in it, odd shapes and shadows lurking in the corners. There were stray props littered around the edges of the stage and piles of different fabric in disorganized stacks on the stage. 

“Mrs. Green? Mrs. Green!” 

“Yes, Bellamy?” Mrs. Green emerged from behind a scrap pile of denim. She smiled at him and Bellamy felt a lurch of guilt for what he was hoping to accomplish. “Congratulations on your role.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I came here to talk to you about,” he began tentatively. “I’m not sure if you know, but I have to be in the play. Principal Jaha is making me.”

“I’m aware of your circumstances, Bellamy.”

“Right, so, I was hoping I could be an extra, or like a tree, or some small—“ 

“MRS. GREEN!” In a matter of moments, Clarke Griffin rounded the middle aisle of the house looking deeply annoyed. But come to think of it, Clarke always looked annoyed. She took in Bellamy’s appearance but decided to ignore it, turning to face Mrs. Green. 

“Congratulations, Clarke.”

“Thank you. But Mrs. Green, you cannot be serious casting Bellamy as Danny. He has no experience and barely shows up to school—“

 

“She’s right,” Bellamy chimed in eagerly. “I was just telling her I wanted to be a tree.” 

“He would be a great tree!” Clarke exclaimed. “And really, in this racial climate, Mrs. Green, don’t you think it would be wonderfully progressive of Arcadia High School to cast a black Danny?”

Bellamy actually laughed out loud before clapping his palm over his mouth. Clarke glared at him. 

Mrs. Green looked amused before turning stern. “Bellamy, I cast you in this role because you have a great voice, good movement and already embody the character of Danny. Even if you find the acting a struggle, his lines and reactions should not be a reach. I will be there to coach you. I know you don’t want to be here, but you may be pleasantly surprised how enjoyable this is.

“As for you, Clarke, I am disappointed. I was expecting more. I also was hoping you would see this as an opportunity to share your expertise and help out your fellow lead. If not, I don’t know if I’ll be able to use the first draft of your recommendation letter. I may have to change around a few things…”

“No!” Clarke panicked. “No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Green. I was just… surprised.” 

Oh, Mrs. Green was good. She ascribed to Clarke’s ego and then simultaneously threatened her with a bad recommendation. Bellamy was impressed. 

“Good, now that that’s settled, I’ll see you both at rehearsal tomorrow.” Clarke and Bellamy understood themselves to be dismissed and walked out of the auditorium together.

Bellamy broke the silence. “Sorry I took your boyfriend’s role.”

Clarke snorted, “Wells? He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really?” Clarke couldn’t see Bellamy’s eyebrows under the maroon beanie but assumed they were raised. “Poor guy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wells has obviously been into you since middle school. You forget we share most classes.”

“When you bother showing up. And Wells is just my friend,” Clarke snapped quickly. Various rumors like this had spread for the past few years and she squashed them as quickly as possible. The rumors made her uncomfortable and worried that Wells did have feelings with her when she had no desire to date Wells or jeopardize their friendship. 

“Like I said, poor guy. Who is your boyfriend then, princess?”

Clarke picked up her speed, hoping to shake him off. “Don’t have one.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone. 

“That must be lonely.”

They reached the main doors to the art wing. Clarke turned and rested her back against the door. Bellamy popped his hand next to her head and leaned in. She noticed his smell, pleasantly reminding her of the outdoors and rain. The beanie may have pushed his curly hair down to cover his brows, but his eyes were perfectly clear. 

“Just because I don’t have a boyfriend, doesn’t mean I’m lonely.” She thrust backwards to open the door with her hips and Bellamy lurched forward as it started to give. “Coming to class?” He regained his footing and shook his head. Clarke rolled her eyes. “See you tomorrow.” She turned down the hall and waved without looking at him as she retreated. 

She grinned to herself and then wondered, did she just flirt with Bellamy Blake?

Bellamy watched her go until the door clicked shut, he couldn’t deny the excellent view she provided. Maybe there was more to Clarke’s perfect façade after all. He grinned and turned the opposite direction to leave campus; he usually ditched last period. Art was an elective that he could easily make up work for and pass with minimal effort. 

He cast his skateboard down to the pavement and cruised to his place of work, Dropship. It was a space themed kids’ pizza palace. His manager, Indra, was not thrilled when he said he needed to cut back hours but understood once he explained. Indra always had a soft spot for Bellamy, and she let him take home the extra pizza free of charge for him and Octavia. He needed three more hours a day for practice, which meant he was losing fifteen hours a week. He agreed to stay an hour later each night and pick up a shift on weekends, but that was still four hours a week cut from his pay. 

“It’ll work out,” Indra promised and he hoped she was right. His mom couldn’t hold down a job for more than a few weeks at a time and he paid most of the household bills. 

The next morning, Bellamy received an urgent pass to the principal’s office. 

“I have eyes everywhere, Mr. Blake. Cutting school is not part of the deal. You need to be here, every day, all day, and attend practices. Do I make myself clear?”

Bellamy grunted in agreement. His favorite hobby of being anywhere other than school was suddenly stripped from him and he was wondering if the diploma was really worth it. He entered the theater that afternoon with a sense of dread; he was going to be spending fifteen hours a week here. Probably more if he sucked as much as he did at tryouts. 

To Clarke, the first day of rehearsal was routine, but exciting. It always involved passing out scripts and dry run throughs. Mrs. Green would share her vision for the show, which was usually artistic and odd. Clarke’s sophomore year they did Midsummer Night’s Dream set at Woodstock. Then there was the modern-day Cinderella, and Romeo and Juliet in the jungle. Mrs. Green helped Clarke fall in love with theater and see it as an art form. 

The only dark spot today was Wells. His normally sunny disposition was clouded. Although he didn’t vocalize it, Clarke knew he was upset with the cast list and expected to be cast as Danny. She tried cheering him up all day, bringing him his favorite Starbucks drink this morning, buying him a cookie at lunch, but none of it worked. He stayed quiet and distant throughout their shared classes and Clarke walked to the theater with him staying a step ahead. She was anticipating practice and she wouldn’t let him bring her down. 

To Bellamy, the first day of rehearsal felt like the first day of a lifelong prison sentence. Mrs. Green handed him the thick book and he felt a dull thrum of panic somewhere in the background of his consciousness—he had to memorize all of this? He tried to sit in the back of the stage but was pulled to the front by Mrs. Green and forced to sit center next to Clarke. 

He chanced a side-glance at her and took in her appearance. He had always thought Clarke to be pretty, in the stuck-up, untouchable way. She was one of the few girls at Arcadia who had a great body but didn’t constantly put it on display with short skirts and low cut blouses; she was a jeans-t-shirt-Converse girl, which he could appreciate.

“As most of you know, our musical, Grease, was originally set in the 1950’s. While I believe the setting has merit, I want our students and community today to connect with the still relevant messages…”

Bellamy’s gaze drifted over again and Clarke’s brows were furrowed in concentration. She had a small leather notebook and was writing down phrases like “pressure to conform” and “polarizing stereotypes.” Bellamy shook his head slightly and tried to tune back into Mrs. Green’s address. 

“…so, I think our best choice is to have our setting resemble Arcadia High as much as possible. Today, I want you to spend time with a partner, if you have an opposite they will be your partner, if not, please find one of the same gender. Read through the play together and then make a character bio. Who is your character? Who would they be today? What are their qualities? I’ll be around to assist.”

Clarke spun toward Bellamy once Mrs. Green stopped speaking. “Let’s go to the back,” she said enthusiastically. 

Do I have a choice? Bellamy thought, but picked up his light backpack, skateboard and play book regardless. She led them through the minefield of props and fabric to the back room behind the stage. “This is the green room,” Clarke explained. “The dressing rooms are behind those doors. This is where you get ready and then hang out when you’re not on stage during a show.” Bellamy nodded and tried to look mildly interested. “Not that you care,” Clarke added. Apparently, he wasn’t doing a good job. 

“I’m here because I have to be,” Bellamy said. 

“What do you mean?”

“I got in a fight last week—“

“Big surprise,” Clarke muttered. Bellamy raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, keep going.”

“I got in a fight with that tool, John Murphy. Principal Jaha said I could either get expelled without a diploma or join a club and graduate.” 

Clarke whistled. “He saved your skin.” Bellamy reluctantly nodded. “Theater is literally saving your life.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Okay princess, save it for the stage.” He expected Clarke to bristle at the nickname but she took it in stride. 

“What did you fight with John Murphy about?”

Bellamy’s jaw clenched. “He said some shit about my sister.”

Clarke nodded. “He slapped my ass freshman year, I’m not surprised. He’s scummy.” Bellamy’s eyes flashed. He wished he punched Murphy a few more times now. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t blame you.” They found two chairs and grabbed seats opposite of one another. “Are you and your sister close?” Clarke asked. 

Bellamy felt uneasy. He didn’t enjoy talking about his personal life with anyone, not even Nathan whom he considered his best friend. And he used that term loosely. Ever since his dad left at a young age and his mother proved to be a barely more reliable substitute, he detached himself from other people. He didn’t need anyone except Octavia. He worked, he paid the bills, he took care of them. 

Clarke noticed his silence. “We’re going to have to pretend we love each other. It would be easier if I knew something about you.” 

“So you can fall in love with me?” Bellamy teased. 

Clarke rolled her eyes; he enjoyed her constant and easy sarcasm. “All set, thanks. But we’ll have more chemistry if we get along in real life.”

Bellamy didn’t know much about acting, but he could see Clarke’s logic. He sighed, “Okay first of all, princess, I like to keep my life private. I don’t do twitter, Instagram, Facebook, snapchat or any of that artificial bullshit. Whatever we do talk about, I’d appreciate you keeping it between us.” 

Clarke was looking at him like she hadn’t seen him before and then sat up a bit straighter. “Okay, no problem. I can do that.” 

“Second of all—“

“So many conditions for one question.” Clarke quipped. Bellamy glared.

“I’m not looking for more people in my life. I’m just trying to graduate high school. And after this thing, we’ll still be Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake.”  
Clarke’s brows dropped together again. “So don’t talk about you and then when the play is done, don’t talk to you?”

Bellamy blanched. It sounded terrible when she said it that way. “I’m not saying don’t talk to me. Just don’t rely on me. I’ve got enough going on with working, school and this show, I don’t have time to be a friend. I’ll let you down.” 

Clarke studied him for a minute. Bellamy was revealing more of himself with these few conditions than he probably would have by answering the original question. And between her dad and Finn, Clarke was used to people being unreliable. At least Bellamy was clear and up front about it. “I’m used to it.” She responded truthfully.  
Bellamy’s eyes were quickly showing themselves to be the most expressive part of him and he looked sad for a moment. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she shrugged before he could say anything. 

Just then, Mrs. Green burst into the back room. “How are my lead’s doing with the character bios?”

“Haven’t started,” Clarke said sheepishly. “We’ve been getting to know each other a bit better.” 

“That’s a smart idea,” Mrs. Green praised. “I was going to suggest you two take some time to do that. You can read over the play after you’ve finished or at home before practice tomorrow.” Clarke nodded vigorously. “I would like you each to share five stories or details about yourselves by the end of practice.” Bellamy wasn’t sure if he could think of five details about himself that were impactful or relevant. “Good luck!” Mrs. Green waved before exiting to the main stage. 

Once she left, Bellamy heard Clarke’s phone vibrate in her jeans. She quickly pulled out the device and tapped the screen. She shook her head slightly at the contents of whatever message or notification was displayed and clicked it to lock the screen without answering. 

“Who was that?” Bellamy asked. “It can be your first story.” 

Clarke sighed. “It was Finn.” 

“Collins?”

“Yeah.” 

“What’s the story there? Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” Bellamy was enjoying seeing Clarke squirm and deflecting attention from himself. 

“Sometimes. She goes to another school. They’re on and off. And when they’re off—“

“You and Finn are on.” Bellamy concluded. 

“Right.” 

Bellamy frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a great arrangement. At least, not for you. For Finn, yeah.” 

Clarke shrugged. “I don’t want a boyfriend. I guess I don’t like people relying on me either. Plus, it’s senior year and I’m busy trying out for performance programs. I’m going to leave Arcadia after high school, I don’t need to put down roots. And Finn is an okay guy. We met at summer camp this past summer and get along well… And other things work out in my favor.” Clarke colored a spectacular shade of red. 

Bellamy choked on his laughter. “I always painted you as a ‘saving yourself for marriage’ type.” 

“I’m a drama kid, not a Jesus freak.” 

Bellamy held up his hands in mock surrender. “My bad, princess.” Clarke was more complex than he gave her credit for. She was more sarcastic and realistic than he  
pictured, and apparently serious about pursuing art after high school, which he respected. 

“Okay, now tell me about your sister. Octavia, right?”

“Yeah. She’s a sophomore and tends to attract trouble. Most of the time I’m fighting someone for saying or doing something to her.” 

“What about your parents?”

Bellamy considered challenging that was a second question but he answered regardless. “Dad was out of the picture when I was young. My mom has got a bunch of  
issues. She’s around, but not much.”

Clarke studied him. “So you’re kind of on your own.”

“Right… What about your parents?”

Clarke took a breath. “My dad is in jail and my mom works so much I barely see her.” Bellamy tried to keep the look of surprise off his face, but his jaw popped open. “Yeah, how many princesses have imprisoned fathers?”

“Uh, not many.” 

“My mom and dad were partners at their own law firm. A few years ago, the finances were flagged for embezzlement. Millions of dollars disappearing off the books. Turns out my mom was behind it. The foreign bank accounts, the forged documents… but my dad took the fall for her. Said she was acting for him. He thought I needed my mother more than him.” Clarke couldn’t keep the acid out of her words. 

“He was wrong?” Bellamy guessed. 

“He was wrong,” Clarke agreed. “The tension sucks so she just works constantly. We see each other a few hours on weekends.”  
Bellamy marveled at how different and yet similar their situations were. Clarke, on paper, had a much easier life than Bellamy. She had wealth, two parents that she knew, and no siblings to care for. But at the core, they were both loners. 

“You’re kind of on your own too,” Bellamy said softly. 

Clarke looked directly into his eyes and he noticed how dark the blue rings around her irises were for the first time. “Yeah.” 

And in the matter of a half hour, Bellamy and Clarke went from practically strangers to friends. Because when you’re cut from the same cloth as someone else, when you find a second piece of your puzzle, you don’t cast it out. Not when so few people have understood before. 

You hold on.


	4. A Party

**Chapter Four: A Party**

Bellamy wasn’t dreading his second practice as much as the first; if all he had to do was talk to Clarke Griffin, this would be easy. He filed into the auditorium and spotted her platinum blonde head from the back of the room. She was seated in the fourth row, one seat in. Wells sat to her other side, but he had a small feeling she left the aisle seat for him. He tucked his skateboard under his arm and plopped next to her.

“Hey,” she smiled at him. Bellamy nodded in response.

“Hey, Wells,” he acknowledged.

Wells looked at him and then nodded reluctantly. Wells turned back to the front and Clarke looked to Bellamy with pleading eyes and whispered, “Sorry.” Bellamy shrugged it off. 

Unfortunately, getting know Clarke Griffin was _not_ all drama practice entailed.

“Today we’re going to do vocals for our first group number. Let’s split into parts please: sopranos, altos, base, tenor. Then our two leads up at the front please.” Mrs. Green pointed her fingers like an airline stewardess reviewing safety instructions.

“That’s us,” Clarke reminded Bellamy.

“Got it,” he replied. Clarke waved to Wells as she exited the row and he went to join his fellow bases. Wells ignored Clarke’s goodbye and exited the row the opposite direction. Bellamy felt angry as he saw Clarke’s slightly put out expression. If Wells wanted to take out his frustration, he should take it out on Bellamy, not Clarke.

“Right, so let’s listen to the track first.” Mrs. Green eagerly played “Summer Nights." Twice. Bellamy hated it already, and he wondered how he would feel after hearing it repetitively for three months. He recalled seeing _Grease_ once in middle school; Octavia forced him to watch it. The plot points were still a little hazy, even after reading through (most) of the script last practice. He should probably give it another viewing.

“I’m going to work with the chorus, Clarke do you mind plunking out notes for you and Bellamy in the green room?”

“No problem.” She hopped to her feet and tapped Bellamy’s shoulder before he fully comprehended the direction.

“You play piano?” He asked.

“Mmmhm. If you want to advance in the music world it’s helpful.” She explained.

“Is there anything you _can’t_ do?”

Clarke blushed; it was a good look on her. “Basketball. Tennis. Anything that requires hand-eye coordination.”

Bellamy liked that he had her beat. “I’ve got you there, princess.”

“Yeah yeah. Listen to your part.” Clarke pushed out Bellamy’s notes slowly and although it wasn’t as easy as the Star Spangled Banner, he managed to get the hang of it after a few tries.

“Some of these notes are high.” Bellamy remarked.

“I know. It’ll get easier the more you warm up and practice. You have a great natural range, you should be able to hit them no problem.” Clarke nodded and then played her notes.

He watched her strong jaw open softly as she sung her lines. Her neck was delicate with her waves pulled back into a low bun for concentration. Bellamy had never studied her closely before.

“Both of us now. I’m just going to play your part because I’m not _that_ good.”

Bellamy smirked and followed along well enough. After one full run through, his phone vibrated.

**Nathan: Party tn at Lincoln’s. Come.**

Bellamy rolled his eyes. Nathan always tried to entice him out, and Bellamy always had to work (or made up an excuse to avoid the fray).

“Do you even get text messages on that dinosaur?” Clarke asked nodding to the flip phone.

“Yup. Don’t need it for much else.”

Clarke laughed. “Of course Mr. Off the Grid. What’s up?”

“Nathan wants me to go to some party tonight.”

“Lincoln’s?”

“Yeah, you going?” Bellamy asked.

“Finn invited me.” Clarke looked down at the ivory keys.

“Ahh, prince charming.”

She snorted. “Hardly. You going?”

“I work.” Bellamy said simply.

“Where?”

“Dropship.”

“The kid’s pizza place?” Clarke grinned.

“Yeah, shut up. I don’t sing for birthdays and I don’t clean the vomit out of the play place, so there’s very little to make fun of.”

Clarke nodded her head in a way that made him sure she didn’t believe him. “You could come after.”

“Or I could, I don’t know, sleep.”

“Sorry, grandpa. My fault.”

Bellamy planned to retort when Mrs. Green called them back to join the rest of the cast. The first run through of the song was bad. Bellamy wasn’t used to all the backup vocals or the extra instruments. But again, he picked it up quickly. Mrs. Green nodded in approval at the end of practice. “Have a good weekend! Practice!” 

***

When Clarke got home from rehearsal, the house was empty. As per usual, she thought. Her and Abby (she refused to call her mom), had a scheduled lunch tomorrow. Once a weekend Abby would add a lunch to Clarke’s schedule and it would _ping!_ on her iCal as the week winded down. Clarke rolled her eyes and got out ingredients to cook an easy chicken and pasta dinner. 

She ate her meal in silence while binge watching a few episodes of Netflix’s latest comic book series before it reached a reasonable time to get ready for the party. Finn was picking her up at 9:30 and she began her ritual an hour before. 

Clarke wasn’t someone who invested a lot of time into getting ready each morning, but she did make an effort when going out. She curled her already wavy hair and added touches of makeup. She pulled out her few skirts and chose the high-waist denim with a white crop top. She added a choker, because the 90’s style had come back full force this year at Arcadia High. She then slipped on her cleanest pair of Converse (bright red) and called it a day. Clarke refused to be uncomfortable in heels; at a party no one was looking at her feet anyway. 

She took a small shoulder bag and threw in her phone and few 20s (just in case). She jotted a hasty note to Abby: 

_Dear Mom,_ (Abby didn’t know that in Clarke’s head they were on a first name basis)  
_Out for the night with a couple of friends. Be home before morning.  
Clarke_

Then, she sat on her couch again and proceeded to wait until her phone vibrated. 

**Finn 9:47  
Here.**

Clarke could be annoyed Finn was late, but she didn’t care deeply enough about him to be offended by his behavior. Instead she walked out to the car and smiled as she got in his beat up Honda civic. 

“Hey, Griffin.” 

“Hey,” Clarke said back and immediately reached for the AUX chord to play something other than the Top 40 radio station bopping pleasantly in the background. She clicked to the latest Lumineers album and nodded along to the beat of one of their more uptempo songs. 

“God, how do you listen to this?” Finn complained.

“What, decent music?” Clarke shot back. 

“It’s so slow! We’re going to a PARTY, Clarke. Not a bookstore.” He clicked back over to the radio and Chris Brown’s latest hit echoed through the speakers. 

Clarke rolled her eyes and kept silent, placing her forehead against the cool glass of the window. 

“Hey,” he said looking a little concerned. 

“Yeah?”

“You have terrible taste in music but you look great.” Clarke smiled despite herself. 

After a few minutes they pulled into Lincoln’s already crowded driveway. “Ready?” Finn asked. 

“Guess so,” Clarke agreed. Parties weren’t her cup of tea, but unfortunately it’s what kids her age did to socialize.They entered and were hit with a strong scent of weed, alcohol and stale, hot air from many bodies. “Woah,” Clarke noted. 

“Yeah, we must have gotten here at the perfect time,” Finn smiled. “Drink?” 

“Sure,” Clarke said. 

“Meet you in the living room.” 

Clarke nodded and decided to do a lap. Every party was the same; there were the couples gyrating in the middle of the dance floor, the group of jocks steadfastly holding their place by the keg with beer pong or some other drinking game set up. Then, the extra long line for the bathroom, the popular girls that stood in small clusters on the edges of room to survey the scene and talk about people passing by, and the socially awkward people that somehow found the party and make unfunny comments from the center of the room. She waved at a few people from classes, but didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Wells was her best friend and he rarely came out. The only time Clarke did was when Finn asked her to. 

“For the lady.” Finn handed her a cup of frothy, warm beer. 

“Thanks,” Clarke said and they sat down on the loveseat pushed against the wall of the living room. The chatted aimlessly about their weeks and a few of the drunker party guests. 

“So things with Raven?” Clarke asked once Finn had drained two cups of alcohol. 

“Not good. I’m pretty sure we’re done this time, for real. She got jealous over the stupidest thing…” 

Clarke tried to focus on Finn, but saw a girl stumble into the room and nearly fall. When she put her head upright, Clarke noticed it was Octavia Blake. Lincoln, a senior on the soccer team and host of the party, rushed in and looped his arm under her shoulders to keep her steady. Clarke wondered idly if Bellamy was aware his little sister was currently drunk at a senior party. 

“...I don’t know. I’m over it. I don’t want to talk about her, I’m here with you,” Finn finished, but Clarke knew he wasn’t sincere. Finn did love Raven. And even if he liked Clarke’s body and thought she was fun to hang out with, he didn’t care for her the way he did for Raven. As Wells frequently noted, and Bellamy did the first day of practice, it wasn’t a great relationship for Clarke to maintain. But, it was what she wanted. Clarke got to have fun and keep Finn at arms length.

“That you are,” Clarke said in a low voice. 

“Wanna dance?” 

“Sure.”

Finn pulled her up by the fingers and against him on the edge of the crowd. Clarke let her hands slide up around his neck and pressed her legs in between his. He traced his fingers down her sides until they rested on Clarke’s hips and gripped them tightly. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feeling of his warm body and swayed to the base of the music. She turned around so her back pressed on his chest and traced her hand down his neck. The feeling was intoxicating and--

“Finn?!” A shriek came from the corner of the room. Clarke’s eyes snapped open and saw an enraged Raven (recognized from instagram and facebook) standing in the doorway. Finn dropped his hands and stepped away from Clarke. 

“What the hell are you doing? We broke up yesterday and you’ve already got your hands around some slut?”

Clarke’s cheeks flushed red and Finn stepped in front of her. “Hey, leave Clarke out of this--”

“Clarke? So that’s the girl who pops up on your phone. This all makes so much more sense!” Clarke’s eyes widened. She always assumed part of the “getting back together” process with Raven involved Finn confessing his fling with Clarke, but apparently he never had. Raven had no idea Finn was involved with Clarke. Not now, not ever. Suddenly, the room felt hot and small. The music stopped and people were eagerly watching the drama unfold. 

“I’m gunna go…” Clarke said quietly and started to back out of the middle circle. A sharp grip landed on her arm. 

Raven pulled her back. “What the fuck is your problem? There are no guys at Arcadia High? You need to take someone else’s boyfriend?” 

“Raven, enough!” Finn shouted and attempted to step in between the girls. 

“We’ve been sleeping together for eight months,” Clarke spat. Raven let go of Clarke’s arm in shock. Raven looked up to Finn and then back to Clarke. Before Clarke understood what was happening, a slap stung across her left cheek. The onlookers gasped and then laughed. Raven stormed out of the room and Finn stood by Clarke clutching her cheek. 

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry..” but he was distracted. His eyes were glued to the door Raven exited from and for the first time, Clarke truly felt she was second place to someone else. 

“Go,” Clarke said, gently removing Finn’s hand from her face. She took a step back and Finn didn’t move towards her. 

“Are you--?”

“We’re _done_ here,” Clarke said finally. And Finn’s eyes fell, realizing Clarke’s true meaning. 

She backed out of the room and fled down the hallway, out the door. She stepped over abandoned plastic cups to exit the yard. The cool March air hit her exposed limbs, but she crossed her arms and ignored the goosebumps. 

Clarke pulled out her phone and scrolled to Wells’ name. She clicked the phone icon and listened to the line ring. Voicemail. Clarke let out a groan of frustration. She let Wells know she was going to the party, and usually when she went out he would stay up for a while incase she needed a ride; he never trusted Finn to be sober enough to take them home. Judging his sour mood this week, Clarke was guessing his offer expired. Although she didn’t make the cast list, and she didn’t decide to be an on-stage couple with Bellamy, he was still taking it out on her. 

Clarke could call Abby, but then she would be forced to sit in a car and explain what she had been doing out in the first place. Plus, her breath probably smelled like beer. She wasn’t drunk, but her mom would panic. Clarke enjoyed the amount of freedom she currently had and didn’t want Abby to tighten the reigns. There were acquaintances from school, but no one Clarke knew well enough to ask for a ride at 11:23 on a Friday night. Bellamy crossed Clarke’s mind, but she never got his number. 

She nodded her head resolutely: she was walking. The party was only a few miles from her house, if she hustled she could be home in an hour. Even though some of the side streets were dodgy, she could avoid them by taking a few longer routes. 

Only when she had decided on a course of action did she cry. Her cheek still stung red, but that was minor nuisance compared to how she felt when Finn attempted to comfort her as he looked for Raven. She always knew Finn didn’t like her as much as the other girl, but it was another thing to see Raven in person and see Finn react to her. She felt stupid and insignificant. She mentally berated herself as she walked down the sidewalk and away from the dying noise of the party. 

***

Bellamy’s night had been dull. He pulled six hours at Dropshift and then made his way home to eat pizza and relax. His mom was god knew where and Octavia left a note:

_Going to the movies with some girlfriends and sleeping over! See you in the morning!  
Xoxo Octavia_

Bellamy was glad Octavia had friends. She was always the more social of the two of them and he wanted her to create a network of people to support her; he was enough of a loner for both of them. 

He was just settling in to watch something on TV when his archaic phone lit up. 

**Nate 11:01  
Dude, come to Lincoln’s**

**Bellamy 11:02  
Nah I’m crashing soon**

**Nate 11:05  
Octavia’s here**

Bellamy felt his blood run cold: Octavia lied to him. They were always incredibly close, and to his knowledge she never lied to him before… Why did she start now? He was standing with his keys in his hand before he realized what he was doing. 

**Bellamy 11:07  
Omw… address?**

Nate texted back the address and Bellamy took off in his used truck. A few minutes into the ride he received another message. 

**Nate 11:16  
Clarke Griffin just got SLAPPED !!!!**

“Shit,” Bellamy swore under his breath. Nathan didn’t know Bellamy and Clarke had become friendly, so he was sending that text as a form of shocking gossip, but Bellamy was concerned. He turned onto Lincoln’s street and saw none other than Clarke Griffin herself rounding the corner, hugging her arms to her chest. He pulled over and threw on the car’s hazards, jumped out of of the driver’s seat and waved. 

“Clarke!” 

She turned around and he could see the faint red mark on her cheek and glistening tears down her face. Her pain triggered an instant flare of protectiveness, he wanted to know what happened and he wanted (needed) to help. 

“Bellamy?”

“Hop in.” She hesitated for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat. 

“What--?” he asked immediately

“Not yet. I need a minute,” Clarke cut him off. She sniffled and wiped the hair out of her face. She took a deep breath and looked like she was willing herself to keep it together.

Bellamy frowned. “Okay… Did you see Octavia in there?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah, she looked pretty out of it… I think Lincoln was helping her? I’m sorry it got crazy... “ she faded away. 

They arrived to the driveway and Bellamy parked on the end of it. He turned to Clarke and touched her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He took a breath. He was calm in intense situations from putting out so many of his mom’s fires. “You stay in the car, I’m going to go get my sister. We’ll leave here, hopefully before I end up fighting someone.” 

Clarke nodded, the tears had mostly stopped. “I don’t mind helping.” 

Bellamy looked at her skeptically. Her cheek still glowed pink under the street lights. “That’s okay. I have Nathan, he’s going to help me grab her. Maybe clear off the back seat? We’ll put her back there.”

Clarke nodded, enjoying the concrete task she was given to focus on. 

“I’ll be right back,” Bellamy promised. Before he exited the car, he grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. For a guy who didn’t want friends, he was very comforting. Clarke nodded, and he disappeared into the lawn. Clarke didn’t watch his progress toward the house, she didn’t want to turn her eyes back to that stupid party. She was glad he didn’t have her come back in as well; she only offered because she had nothing else to offer him for his act of kindness.

Bellamy bellowed through the lawn like a pissed off rhino, ignoring the trashed cups and random drunk kids sitting or laying around. He kept flexing his fingers trying to release the pent up aggression that was telling him to attack. Attack this Lincoln kid for being near his sister, attack Finn for being such a selfish dick, or attack anyone who got in his way--he wasn’t feeling particularly choosy.

It didn’t take him long to reach the nucleus of the party in the living room and saw Octavia slumped into Lincoln’s shoulder on the couch. She seemed to be unconscious and he was looking concernedly down at her, petting her hair. Nathan saw Bellamy enter and linked up to his side.

“I’m taking my sister home.” Bellamy boomed and Lincoln actually jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Of course, man. She threw up, I gave her some water and…”

“Shut your goddamn mouth.” Bellamy snapped. He bent down and looped his arms under her, lifting her like a limp, drunken princess. Lincoln relinquished control of her immediately.

As Bellamy started to step away, Octavia stirred. “Hey… put me… ground… on ground…” Bellamy rolled his eyes. Octavia started thrashing, making it difficult to carry her.

“Nathan!” Bellamy yelled.

“Behind you, boss.” Bellamy nodded to his side and Nathan appeared, ready to loop his arm under Octavia and help support her as they lowered her to the ground. And with both young men, they easily supported the weight of one drunk girl. Really, they should have made it effortlessly to the truck, helped her into the backseat and Bellamy could have driven them all home.

Except…

Except as the trio was shuffling toward the exit, Finn Collins was next to the front door, engaged in a fierce lip-lock with Raven Rayes.

Finn Collins who came to this party with Clarke Griffin.

Finn Collins who fucked Clarke just to discard her like an old tissue the second Raven called him up. (Clarke may be sometimes holier-than-thou and annoying, but didn’t deserve that. No matter how okay with it she claimed to be.)

Finn Collins who saw Clarke get slapped and humiliated by the same girl he was kissing.

Finn Collins who clearly had no sense of decency or honor.

“Get Octavia to the truck,” Bellamy said in a dangerous voice. Nathan looked over at his best friend and saw the fixed gaze on Finn.

“Dude, you do not—“

“Get her to the truck.” His tone silenced Nathan. He took more of a controlled stance and shifted Octavia to bare all her weight. Bellamy waited until they were outside before he tapped Finn on the shoulder. Finn pulled away from Raven and turned to face him.

“Yeah?”

“You’re an asshole for what you did to Clarke. And to her too—“ Bellamy pointed to Raven. “And by the way, if he did it once, he’ll fuck someone else again so maybe you shouldn’t be jumping back on it.” Raven looked at the floor.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Finn declared. Bellamy could tell by his lack of eye focus that he was quite intoxicated. “Also, why the fuck do you care?”

“Because Clarke is a good person.” Bellamy answered quickly, before he could think. “And she didn’t deserve your shit.”

“Clarke is a slut,” Finn said simply.

Before thinking, Bellamy pulled back his fist, like he had done so many times before, and punched Finn across the face. He went down quickly, not alert enough to retaliate. Bellamy shook out his hand and then stepped to the left and out the door. He walked in large steps to his car and entered without looking back.

“Everything okay?” Clarke asked as Bellamy threw the pick-up into gear and peeled out of the drive way. She spotted red on his right hand gripping the steering wheel.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go to my place and put Octavia in her bed. Then, we’re going to heat up Dropship pizza and talk about things. But for this drive, I’m going to be silent. Okay?”

Clarke looked taken aback. “Okay.”

Bellamy nodded and cranked up the stereo, leaving them both to their thoughts.


	5. An Apartment

**Five: An Apartment**

Octavia Blake was objectively a beautiful young lady. She was only a sophomore, but captured the interest of many older male students. Exhibit A: Lincoln, the senior soccer captain. However, Octavia Blake, was not beautiful when hunched over a toilet bowl, spilling the contents of her stomach. 

Once they got home, Bellamy carried Octavia through the threshold and attempted to get to the bedroom. His progress halted when Octavia started coughing and awoke enough to push herself down and bolt for the bathroom. 

Clarke followed behind and hung in the threshold of the small apartment, unsure of her status. She took in the kitchen and living space, noting the left door led to the bathroom and a small hallway had three doors branching off, naturally leading to sleeping quarters. The kitchen was small and dimly lit, but incredibly clean. The sink was a pristine white and nothing sat on the counters. The living room was equally tidy with one couch, one chair and a large TV sitting directly on the ground. She couldn’t help but compare the space to her own house, and thought of the extravagant amounts of space her and her mother shared; it was obscene and unnecessary. 

Clarke finished her survey and realized Bellamy was hovering outside the bathroom door, but not going inside. “Letting her learn a lesson?” Clarke joked. 

Bellamy turned and his face looked pale. “I hate vomit.” 

“Don’t you work at a kid’s pizza playscape?”

“I told you, I don’t do vomit duty. I can’t.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and shut the front door behind her. “Move.”

Bellamy put his hands up and scooted to the left. Clarke gently knocked on the bathroom door and entered before Octavia had the chance to respond. 

The good news was Octavia’s aim was true and there was no residual mess. However, her hair was sticking to her forehead in a cold sweat that Clarke was sure must be uncomfortable. She pulled the extra hair tie off her wrist and gently gathered the hair off the younger girl’s neck and face, twisting it into a loose bun. 

“Thanks,” Octavia whispered. 

“No problem,” Clarke said. “How are you feeling?”

Octavia raised her arm to show a thumbs up. 

Clarke laughed, “Stupid question. Do you need to throw up more?”

Octavia shook her head. 

“Okay, good.” Clarke got up and found mouthwash and face wipes among the assorted contents under the bathroom sink. She gently rubbed Octavia’s makeup off and ordered her to swish the mouthwash. Octavia spat it into the toilet after a few seconds. Close enough. Clarke was careful to make sure the toilet was flushed and Octavia looked presentable before calling to Bellamy for him to help with transportation. He looked relieved when taking in the bathroom’s innocuous state. 

“Time for bed,” Bellamy said, gently lifting Octavia. “Meet me in the kitchen?” Bellamy said to Clarke and she nodded, forgetting their agreement to eat and talk. 

Clarke sat at the small dining table and again noted its simple, clean style. Bellamy returned several seconds later. “Your house is so--”

“Small?” Bellamy offered. 

“Clean.” Clarke countered. 

Bellamy turned and began rummaging through the refrigerator for leftover pizza. “Well, we’ve been evicted from a place or two, and when my mom is in charge of the house work we never get our security deposit back.” He said this matter-of-factly and popped a plate of pizza into the microwave. 

“So you clean?”

“Octavia helps.” Bellamy added, watching the plate spin in microwave’s light. 

“Did you know she was going to the party?”

Clarke noted Bellamy’s jaw clench. “No. Otherwise I would have gone right away.” 

Clarke nodded, that made sense. 

“I just don’t get it.” The microwave dinged and he put the plate in front of Clarke, starting a second cycle for himself. “She’s never lied before. And she’s never been the trashy, drunk girl at a party.”  
“She likes a boy,” Clarke sighed. “And you have a habit of punching boys that talk to her.”

Bellamy considered her comment. “True. But I just wish she would have let me know so I could watch out for her.” 

“You can’t control other people,” Clarke said gently; she knew from experience. No matter how much she pleaded with her dad, she couldn’t stop him from accepting the blame for her mother’s crimes. 

“You sound like my anger management class.” Bellamy snorted, bringing his plate of pizza over and joining Clarke at the table. 

Clarke was surprised; she didn’t know Bellamy was taking anger management classes. “What would your class say about your hand?” Clarke asked quietly. Bellamy’s knuckles were still red and the middle was split, dried blood caked around the injury. 

“Let me get that,” she added and got up to wet a paper towel. She came back and dabbed at the wound. 

Bellamy took the paper towel from her hand and held it against the cut himself. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“It will be a very big deal if Principal Jaha finds out.” 

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“He won’t talk. He’s too much of a coward.” 

“Lincoln? He’s a soccer star! People will notice on Monday when he comes in with a black eye, Bellamy--”

“I didn’t punch Lincoln,” Bellamy said and took a bite of pizza, moving his eyes to stare at the table. 

“What?”

“I punched Finn.” Clarke put down the piece of pepperoni she was about to bite and blinked her eyes to make sure she was processing this information correctly. 

“You punched Finn Collins?”

“Yes.”

She buried her head in her hands. Perfect. Not only did Clarke admit to sleeping with a taken guy for 8 months in front of a crowd, she was slapped. THEN, the school’s resident bad boy defended her honor and punched Finn. She could only imagine the ridiculous love square the school would concoct by Monday. 

Bellamy’s hand gently brushed against her wrist, “hey. I’m sorry.” Clarke allowed her hand to be pulled into his. “I saw him with Raven and I just lost it. This night was a bit more than my self control allotted for, and I’m sorry if it made you feel worse.” He stared at her so earnestly, she found herself letting go of the bunched up anxiety. 

“This is a mess I made.” Clarke said finally. “Not you.” 

“I didn’t help,” Bellamy grinned and returned to devouring his pizza. 

“But you did. I’m stupid but he deserved a slap.”

“Punch,” Bellamy corrected. 

“A punch, right.” Clarke could feel the tension slip out of her shoulders as she sat and easily joked with Bellamy, eating lukewarm leftover pizza in a small kitchen. 

“What are friends for.” Bellamy shrugged. 

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “You told me not to be your friend a week ago.” 

“That was before you held my sister’s hair while puking so I didn’t have to.”

Clarke laughed. “That’s it? That’s the marker of friendship?” Bellamy stared at her lips and how they curled around her laugh; it was intoxicating. He wanted to be the one to make Clarke laugh forever. 

He just smiled and nodded. They sat at the table and talked about the beginning of their nights. Bellamy’s presence took away the sting enough for Clarke to tell about her humiliation with a tilt of humor and Bellamy re-enacted the ridiculous antics of Dropship's customers and their children. 

“It’s two,” Clarke noted, staring at the small clock on top of the stove. 

“Shit, I can drive you home.” Bellamy yawned. 

“I feel bad…” Clarke countered, only partially true. In reality, Clarke didn’t want to return to her too big house and contemplate how empty it felt without her father. Being in Bellamy’s small apartment feeling so cared for made her realize how cold her own dwelling with Abby was. She provided Bellamy with an opening, and she would patiently wait to see his reaction. 

Bellamy was unsure of Clarke’s intention. She very clearly just stopped seeing (and having sex with, a jealous voice reminded him) Finn; was she trying to make a move on Bellamy? Was she trying for a rebound? Or was it more innocent? Bellamy thought Clarke was beautiful, especially since he had the chance to study her up close. Not to mention her tank top and short skirt left little to his imagination. He also was thoroughly impressed with her talent… her drive… her humor… her resilience… But him, bloody knuckled, and her, sore cheeked, was not the way to come together. 

“You could…” Bellamy hesitated, “...stay.” Clarke smiled and Bellamy’s heart soared.

“I mean, we don’t have a lot of space. But you can take my bed and I’ll take the couch.” 

Clarke’s heart ached a little with his sweetness. When was the last time a boy offered to make any sacrifice for her, no matter how small? Finn wouldn’t even concede a radio channel for her. 

“I’ll take the couch!” Clarke offered quickly but Bellamy shook his head. 

“My mom might stumble in, I don’t want her to be surprised and drunk. That’s a bad combination for her.” 

Bellamy’s mom was a subject they carefully skirted around, other than his comments that led Clarke to believe she was much worse than Abby. Clarke didn’t want to push him; their friendship was so new. It had been ages since she really let someone into her life and she didn’t want to compromise it so early. 

“Do you… do you want to share? I don’t mind,” Clarke added quickly, holding her breath. If he didn’t think she was hitting on him before, he probably did now. Honestly, it wasn’t Clarke’s intention. Bellamy was attractive, but wore far too much black and cut too much school for him to be her type. He also was caring… protective… angry… and many other adjectives she was still sorting through. She just wanted company and reassurance someone cared. 

Bellamy swallowed. This whole night was just one test of restraint after another. “It’s a twin, princess. I would flatten you. The couch is fine.” 

Clarke smiled and ignored the small pull of rejection. “If you say so.” 

They cleaned their dishes and he lead her down the hallway to the furthest door. Bellamy’s room was sparse with a Smith’s poster on the wall, a twin bed, neat dresser and skateboard leaning against the closet door. Clarke also noted with amusement he had four pairs of Vans' sneakers neatly lined up against the end of the bed: gray, black, maroon and navy. 

“Let me get you a shirt,” Bellamy said dutifully, fishing in his top drawer and tossing the found article into Clarke’s hands. 

“Black. How did I know?” Clarke teased. Bellamy grimaced and stood uncomfortable as Clarke obviously surveyed the place. 

“Your room is very you,” Clarke concluded. 

“This is terrible. I demand to judge your room while you stand and watch.”

“That can be arranged.” Clarke said quickly before thinking of the double meaning in her words. Again. 

“Another night. Sleep well, princess.” 

Clarke didn’t hate the nickname anymore. She didn’t hate it at all. “Goodnight, Bellamy Blake.” Clarke said smiling. He turned to leave. “Bellamy?” Clarke said before he could close the door. 

“Yeah?” He stepped back in. 

“Thank you. For everything.” 

He nodded in recognition before closing the door gently. 

Clarke pulled off her party clothes and slipped into the well worn black fabric. The shirt smelled like him and she smiled when she wrapped the bed’s blankets around her shoulders. Surrounded by Bellamy Blake; not the worst way to fall asleep.


	6. A Favor

**Chapter Six: A Favor**

**Clarke 6:15am  
I don’t need a ride today.**

Wells glanced at the message quickly while he brushed his teeth. He slowed his motions and felt a twinge of guilt. On Saturday he woke up to a missed call from Clarke late the night before, and knew she probably needed a ride.

Wells had a crush on Clarke since they were 13. One day she was his best friend and video game partner, and the next she had turned into a girl. A really cool girl. 

As they got older, Clarke always found someone to distract her and came crying to Wells when the boy (or girl, in Lexa’s case) disappointed her. Wells considered vocalizing his feelings, but it became clear Clarke never pictured them as anything more than friends; why tell her and make things weird when she inevitably rejected him? At least this way he had her friendship and company. 

But it did get exhausting--watching Clarke flit from person to person and waiting up night after night to see if she needed him. And this weekend, when Clarke went to another party with Finn, Wells decided to fall asleep listening to music and silenced his ringer.

**Wells 9:33am  
Hey sorry I didn’t get your call. I passed out early last night. What’s up?**

**Wells 4:52pm  
Haven’t heard back… you ok?**

**Wells 8:59pm  
Wanna go to a movie or hang tonight?**

**Wells 11:21pm  
…**

Clearly he was getting the silent treatment. And now, apparently she found alternative transportation to school. Wells drove Clarke to school every day since he got his license the year before. 

He finished brushing his teeth and grimly threw his backpack over his shoulders. Today was going to suck. 

***

Clarke sent Wells the text she wouldn’t be riding with him and shoved the phone in her pocket to remove temptation from her thumbs. 

After Clarke spent the night Friday at Bellamy’s, the next morning the pair made fun of Octavia’s hangover and cooked stacks of pancakes to eat for a late breakfast. Octavia retreated to her dark room while Bellamy and Clarke hung out in the living room laughing and talking; conversation between the two was easy. When Bellamy had to go to work, he dropped Clarke back home. 

The house was empty. Again. 

She texted her mom that morning to let her know she was safe and ended up crashing at a girlfriend’s house for the night. Abby sent back a smiley face and said “hope you had fun!” Their lives were entirely disconnected from one another. Thinking of Abby made Clarke note that Bellamy’s mom hadn’t appeared last night or this morning either. She wondered if it was common place for the Blakes to live days on end with no check in from their mom. Her and Bellamy had more in common than she originally thought. 

Which is why when Bellamy asked if she wanted a ride to school Monday, she agreed. If Wells wanted to be in his feelings about the casting, she would let him. Clarke had taken too much bullshit from people lately to indulge him. 

Clarke heard a beep and pulled herself out of her thoughts to look outside. Bellamy’s old truck was in the driveway and she raced downstairs. 

“Bye, mom!” She called. 

Abby was next to the front door, looking impeccable and intimidating. Her black power suit was offset by a red shirt and her long dirty blond hair was twisted into a tight bun. “We’re out at the same time today. That’s not Wells’ car, is it?” She glanced out the door and frowned. 

“No,” Clarke admitted, bending down to pull on her Converse. “It’s Bellamy. He’s playing the Danny to my Sandy in the play.” 

Abby smiled knowingly, “Are you interested?”

“He’s a friend.” Clarke said, refusing to give into Abby’s attempt at gossip or bonding.

“Well, have a good day at school.” Abby reached out and clutched Clarke’s wrist; the closest they could get to a hug. 

“Yup,” Clarke said and rushed out of the door. 

Clarke expected to sit behind the Blake siblings, but was surprised to see the passenger seat empty. Once she was closer, Clarke could see Octavia sullenly sitting in the small backseat. 

“Morning,” Bellamy said. 

“Morning. Octavia you can sit in the front, if you want.” Clarke offered. 

Octavia glared at her older brother. “Bellamy said I can’t.”

“Seniors ride shotgun.” 

Clarke laughed as Octavia buried her face behind her phone screen. 

“How are you today, princess?”

Clarke swallowed and her throat felt incredibly dry. “Well… it can’t be worse than Friday.”

“Good outlook,” Bellamy nodded. 

“It was all over Snapchat,” Octavia added. 

“Not helping, O.” 

She shrugged, “it was.”

“The teenage attention span is short.” Clarke grimaced. It was sweet of Bellamy to try and make her feel better (it actually made facing the day seem bearable), but she meant what it said. This was her mess, and she needed to clean it up. 

They arrived to the school lot and Octavia took off without a goodbye. 

“Is she mad?”

“Yeah, I laid into her about the drinking and the guy.” 

“Lincoln,” Clarke supplied. 

“Right. She’s not happy with me.” Bellamy easily slipped his arm around Clarke’s shoulders and she didn’t question it. He felt nice and secure, her small frame slipping under his lanky one. 

The pair managed to walk to the school’s front gate before Clarke froze. Of course, she knew the world didn’t revolve around her, but Arcadia was a small town. The news of Clarke and Finn (and Bellamy by extension) must have reached every corner of the campus. 

“We can always drive away instead,” he whispered, bending over toward her ear. 

“You’ll get expelled!”

Bellamy shrugged. “If Finn snitches I’ll be expelled anyway.”

Clarke considered that. “Don’t worry. He won’t; I’ll make sure of it.”

Bellamy looked at her with a disapproving grin. “Don’t talk to the asshole for my benefit.” 

“I’ve got it,” Clarke dismissed. 

Bellamy cocked his head, “whatever you say. Shall we?” 

Clarke nodded and braced herself for the school’s reactions. Bellamy and her had three out of six class periods together, something she rarely noticed prior to the play because he was always ditching. However, today she was incredibly thankful for this fact, because in each class he sat dutifully next to her and dared anyone to throw a comment their way. 

His slightly too long hair covered his thick eyebrows and he was donning the traditional black shirt and grey jeans with his maroon Vans. Not to mention his knuckles were still obviously red and swollen. The whole look was dark and oozed an air of “fuck off” that Clarke benefitted from. 

No one said anything to her directly, but everywhere she went there were whispers in her wake. The hushed tones of people trying to discretely gossip about someone in their presence. She was a social pariah, a scarlet letter and more of an outcast than usual. The last time she was the center of gossip was when her and Lexa’s relationship became public. People had debated, behind her back, about her sexuality and how it all worked. 

By sixth period, Clarke was happy to be in her art class. Bellamy was sitting next to her; this had been the class he skipped the most over the year and she was still getting accustomed to his presence. 

Today they were drawing still life, a table full of aged knick-knacks sat in the center of the room. Clarke focused on the old chess pieces; her and her dad used to play chess all the time. She still brought a board whenever she went to visit him in jail and she set it up on her side of the glass. He would use a phone to tell her his moves. It was easy to lose herself in the lines and small segments of a whole image; she drew until the memories were all gone and there were only slashes and shadows. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy whispered in her ear halfway through the class. 

Clarke jumped at the sudden noise. “What?”

“Can you suck at something? Please? I feel like shit around you.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes, but smiled as she put her charcoal back to paper. “I slept with someone else’s boyfriend for eight months, does that count?”

Bellamy pretended to ponder this. “You bring up an interesting point--”

“Mr. Blake!” The art teacher barked. “Perhaps if you turned your attention to your own canvas you could complete your first assignment of the year.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bellamy answered, but grinned at Clarke. For someone who was in anger management classes and beat the snot out of multiple classmates, Bellamy was never disrespectful to authority figures. He never had been a class disruption or bickered with a teacher. Bellamy hated stupid teenage boys, and Clarke didn’t blame him. 

As the pair walked from the art wing to the theater, Clarke saw her least favorite stupid boy marching to the student lot. “Be right back,” she said to Bellamy. He followed her eyes and saw her path to Finn. 

“Clarke, it’s not worth it. If he didn’t say anything today, he’ll keep his mouth shut. I’m in the clear.”

“This is for me,” Clarke said and Bellamy nodded. 

“I’m waiting against the wall in case you need me to punch him again.”

“On school grounds? I think I’m good, Mike Tyson. I’ll meet you inside.” 

Bellamy looked incredibly reluctant and leaned against the theater door frame. Clarke decided to let him have his way and walked toward Finn’s retreating form. It made sense Bellamy was so protective; he essentially was Octavia’s guardian. He had been protecting himself and others his entire life. 

“Finn!” Clarke called out. A few walking students sniggered and looked snidely at Clarke as she ran through the parking lot. 

Finn stopped and slowly turned around. Clarke had to stop herself from gasping; the dark purple bruise on his left jaw was the size of a large chocolate chip cookie. Bellamy put an incredible amount of force behind the punch. 

“Clarke,” he noted. Finn’s glance fell behind her shoulder. “Is he your new guy?” He nodded to Bellamy in the distance. 

“Not that it would be any of your business, but no. He’s my friend.” 

Finn chuckled, “I was your friend.”

“Now you’re not.” Clarke said icily. The air hung awkwardly between them. “Look, I’m not here to yell at you. But I just wanted to say it was fucked up, what you did. And we were never exclusive, but I had no idea Raven never knew about us. And for you to string both of us along was wrong. I deserve better than that, and she deserves better than that.” 

“I know.” Finn looked to the pavement. 

“I don’t want to talk to you again after today. I don’t want to hear your name or look at you. And for all the shit you put me through, I deserve one favor.” 

Finn looked up and nodded, “okay.”

“Don’t rat out Bellamy for punching you.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” Finn said defensively. 

“Then it’s an easy favor and you should consider yourself lucky.” Clarke hated it, but her and her mom both had an ability to voice their desires and persuade people to comply. 

Finn laughed sardonically. 

“What?” Clarke asked with an edge in her voice. 

“Noting, just the way you two protect each other… I give it a month before you’re together.” 

“We’re done here,” Clarke scoffed and walked away. She was proud of herself for walking straight ahead without looking back. 

When she got close, Bellamy furrowed his eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“You look upset.” 

“He just talked shit about me and you hanging out, it’s whatever. I don’t give a fuck what he says.” Clarke said bitterly. 

“Note to self, avoid your bad side,” Bellamy smiled. 

Clarke found herself staring at his crooked grin. “I think you’re impervious.” 

They walked into practice and even though Wells left two spots open next to him in the front, Clarke pulled Bellamy’s arm into a farther back row. 

“Are you mad at Wells too?” Bellamy asked once they cast off their backpacks and sat in the faded red auditorium seats. 

“I just can’t deal with his pissed off mood today. He needs to get over you being Danny and you being my friend.” 

“I like ‘Taking No Shit’ Clarke,” Bellamy said approvingly. 

Clarke wanted to reply she liked every Bellamy, but Mrs. Greene started practice. She split the girls and boys up to work on their respective group numbers: Grease Lightening and Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee. The girls worked in the green room, but Clarke made several excuses to walk through the auditorium and check on Bellamy, especially because she only came in for one line at the end of the number. He looked utterly lost in the beginning but when she looked again, he was confident and nailing the easy movements. Clarke had to admit… it was attractive. 

At the end of practice each group performed for the other and Lexa nailed the Rizzo personality. Maybe mocking Clarke was an easy motivation for her. Bellamy did a perfect Danny and for the first time the excitement of the show clicked for Clarke. Yes, she was happy when she was cast, but Wells and Finn had thrown a shadow over the past week. Now, she was more present in practice and focused on her role. 

“Well done!” Mrs. Greene clapped at the end of the boy’s number. “I’m so proud of all of you, see you tomorrow!” 

While the group was collecting their things, Wells grabbed his bag and moved up to Clarke and Bellamy. “Can I drive you home, Clarke?” Wells asked in an abrupt tone. Clarke turned around and he recognized her face. She had the same face after Lexa shouted at her in the cafeteria after their breakup last year; this was Clarke’s “I don’t give a fuck” face. 

“I do have to go to Dropship,” Bellamy added, looking tentatively between the two. 

“Fine,” Clarke said, sounding less than enthused. 

“See you tomorrow, princess.” Bellamy said, throwing a wink her way before leaving the auditorium. 

Normally Wells would have mocked Bellamy’s nickname or asked its origin, but he knew better today. They walked in total silence to Wells’ Honda civic. 

Before they got in, Wells turned to Clarke. “Hey, I’ve been a bad friend for the last week and I’m sorry.” Clarke’s face instantly lightened. “I was upset Bellamy got the role, and I took it out on you. And this weekend I really did go to sleep early Friday night, and you never got back to me. I heard what happened today…” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. 

“It sucked.” Clarke said flatly. 

“Yeah, it sounds like it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there--”

“It’s okay. Bellamy was.” Clarke pointed out, and the brief look of agony on Wells’ face instantly made her regret her bluntness. All the rumors of Wells having feelings for her swirled around her head like flies…

“I’m glad,” he managed eventually. He looked stressed over his next comment. “Do you think, that he… is trying to… you know…” 

“Fuck me?” Clarke said again, watching Wells look uncomfortable. Clarke thought back to two am this Friday when she gave him the option of sleeping in bed with her. She loved the way the dim kitchen light illuminated half of his face, catching the whites of his eyes and teeth. “No. He’s not. But even if he was, he’s a good guy. He’s not Finn.” 

“I don’t know him,” Wells said neutrally. 

“You don’t. You can.” 

Wells nodded. “I will. I’m over it, I promise.” 

“Good,” Clarke agreed and finally opened the door to the car. Her life felt more in sync than it had 24 hours prior: Wells and her were friends, Finn was excommunicated, and Bellamy… well. Clarke pictured him on stage, singing with the other men ducked around him. Bellamy was in her life, and that felt pretty damn good too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! I'm having a lot of fun writing my first 100 fic :)


	7. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia gives a surprise invitation to Bellamy and Clarke. Wells and Bellamy have a tense conversation at rehearsal.

**Chapter Seven: An Invitation**

Thursday night Bellamy’s mom re-appeared. He was doing the dishes from him and Octavia’s dinner when he heard the easily distinguishable sound of a key attempting to be put in the lock. When he was younger, he would rush to the door and open it, saving his mom the embarrassment of scraping metal against metal. Now, he kept scrubbing the dishes in a circular motion. Each swipe of the key made him more angry. 

Finally, she managed to let herself in. “Hey, Bell.” 

He determinedly kept scrubbing, albeit more softly. “You’ve been gone since Friday.” 

Bellamy didn’t turn, but heard her rummaging in her purse. There was an unmistakable clink of glass on glass, and he wondered if the bottles were empty. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her take another swig. 

The bottles weren’t empty. 

“I know. I feel terrible about that. I was upstate with your aunt, she’s going through that god awful divorce, you know?”

Bellamy shut off the water. His anger management class, which he attended each Sunday morning, taught him de-escalation techniques. Some of them were stupid, like thinking of a “happy” or “calm” place to transcend reality. But some of them were helpful. His favorite was counting backwards from 10. 

10…

“Mom.” 

9…

“Let’s get this straight.”

8…

“I don’t care where you were or what you were doing.”

7…

“I don’t even care that you didn’t text.” 

6…

“I’ve given up on you acting like a mom.”

5…

“Or a responsible person.”

4…

“Just don’t drink in the house.”

3…

She looks at him as if she’s been slapped.

2…

By now she knows better than to argue or throw a tantrum, or even more embarrassing to them both, try to defend herself. 

1…

She knew her time was limited. When Bellamy was graduated and turned 18, he would challenge her for custody or help Octavia emancipate herself, he told her multiple times. Bellamy sighed, feeling the weight of guilt and family problems well beyond his years. His mother wordlessly handed him her purse. 

“There are leftovers in the fridge.” He said, taking the bag and leaving her in the dim kitchen light alone.

***

The next day at school it was hard to focus. Bellamy didn’t touch an assignment or book. He merely sat at his desk like an abandoned marionette. 

Oddly, he felt more calm when his mom was missing. She was easier to put out of his mind and dismiss when not physically present. When she was gone, him and Octavia could laugh and joke around the apartment without walking on eggshells. Their meals were methodically laid out and nothing went missing from the fridge. Most of all, he didn’t have to watch the pain on Octavia’s face. 

Growing up he tried to shelter Octavia from the brunt of his mom’s behaviors. He was a charming young boy, and often befriended the neighbors so Octavia would have somewhere to go when his mom stumbled in drunk or worse. Because of this, his vision of his mother tarnished long ago. Also because of this, Octavia still held hope she would change. 

“What’s up?” Clarke asked him on their way to lunch. Her eyebrows furrowed together and a pinch of concern turned down her mouth. 

“Nothing,” Bellamy said automatically. 

“Bullshit.” Clarke said. 

Bellamy didn’t bother to contradict her. It was interesting, how easily his small world of two (him and Octavia) had stretched to include Clarke. The only explanation he had was it felt like he always had known Clarke, despite their short time as friends. Everything she said and did felt familiar and easy, like a well worn pair of jeans. When they bickered with Octavia for control over the AUX cord, or sat down automatically next to each other in class, nothing felt new. She was as familiar as the back of his hand, and he didn’t think twice about including or protecting her. 

“My mom came home last night.” 

Clarke kept her expression neutral, but he could see her eyes trying to carefully pick through her thoughts to the most appropriate reaction; Clarke was methodical and strong. “Did something happen?”

“Not particularly. I just like it better when she’s not around, honestly.” 

The pair snagged a table in the corner of the cafeteria, away from most of the human traffic. “You like it better when you know what to expect.” Clarke observed. 

Bellamy looked into her blue eyes, wondering what her excuse was for their quick intimacy. He smirked at her, “nothing gets by you, princess.” 

“I understand that,” Clarke nodded, but offered no further explanation. Clarke was almost as cryptic and guarded as he was.

Octavia bounded over to the two and threw her backpack on the table. “Bell.”

“O.” He said back, slapping his hands on the table for a similar effect. 

“I invited Lincoln over for dinner tonight.” The way Bellamy’s veins throbbed along his neck was comical. Clarke started to laugh, but turned it into a small cough instead. 

“Before you get all protective-older-brother, listen. I’ve been seeing him since summer. Last weekend was the first, and definitely last for a while, time I’ve drank. He was sober, he doesn’t drink, but I felt nervous hanging out in that huge crowd of people. He wanted me to tell you about us for months, but I knew you’d freak out so I hid it. I don’t want to keep secrets from you, Bell. I want you to really meet him and… and I want you to like him.” 

Clarke faded into her chair, realizing this was a private conversation. Although, it was a mark of her status among the Blake siblings that they didn’t ask her to leave or walk away from the table. Earlier this week, Clarke grew bold enough to ask Bellamy what he did at anger management classes. After he answered, “manage anger,” and she shoved him, he actually did explain the format and strategies. He told her about counting backwards from 10, and wondered if he was doing that right now. 

“O--”

“I love him.” She said, looking deadly serious. Clarke could tell she meant it by the set stance of her eyebrows and the stiffness of her posture. Octavia was fierce and determined; a family trait.

“You don’t know that.” Bellamy countered quietly. Clarke wondered suddenly if Bellamy had ever been in love. She never heard of him dating anyone seriously, but he also had no social media or digital footprint. If he had ever fallen in love, there would be no record of it. Was it better that way? 

Clarke decided she had never fallen in love. Lexa was exciting and toxic, but it wasn’t love. And Finn was never available enough, emotionally or physically, for Clarke to fall in love with him. Other people had come and gone, but nothing ever stuck enough for her to sit as straight and tall as Octavia was now. 

“I do.” Octavia said simply. “Mom’s in. I called Indra and she said she’d cover your shift tonight.” 

Bellamy glared at her. “O, I need those hours at Dropship.”

“Relax, she said you could come in early Saturday. Bring Clarke,” she nodded to Clarke, the first time since the beginning of the conversation her presence had been acknowledged, “it can be a double date. I’ll see you tonight, I got a ride after school.” With that, Octavia spun and left, leaving no room for discussion or argument. She left her implication behind, laying over the two like a thick, wool blanket. 

Bellamy ran his hands over his face and through his hair, sucking in a heavy breath. 

“I don’t have to go,” Clarke offered. 

Bellamy shook his head and looked at her, “Up to you.”

“No it’s not,” Clarke pointed out. “It’s up to you; it’s your family.”

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Bellamy promised.

“I like disasters.” Clarke said quickly. “I am a disaster,” she joked and Bellamy chuckled. “But seriously, whatever you want.” 

Bellamy turned back front and spoke to the air rather than Clarke’s face. “I would like you there,” he said at last and turned to look at her. “You help keep me calm.” 

“Done,” she said simply, her cheeks slightly pink. Wells came over and joined the table, putting his tray down next to Clarke. Ever since he drove Clarke home earlier this week, they seemed to have repaired their friendship. Later at rehearsal, she even let Wells sit next to them-- the last sign the ice had thawed. 

Bellamy knew Wells liked Clarke, and he could sympathize. Each day he spent with her he too grew to care about her more.They both operated under similar emotional and social doctrines; namely trusting few people and opening up to even fewer. 

“So Bellamy,” Wells said, leaning across Clarke. His arm was sharing her armrest. “What made you audition?”

“Your dad made me,” Bellamy said dully, wondering how this information had escaped Wells’s knowledge. “It was involvement or expulsion. I thought I would get cast as a tree.”

Wells chuckled. Bellamy wondered if Wells was putting on a show of comraderie for Clarke; two could play that game. “Honestly, I thought you would get Danny, man. You’re talented.” 

Wells seemed taken aback. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and Mrs. Green called to her, causing Clarke to propel herself out of her worn auditorium chair. 

“Hey, I am sorry for how I acted last week. I know you didn’t ask for the part and it was a stupid thing to be upset about.”

Clarke wasn’t here, so Bellamy supposed Wells’s apology was genuine. Bellamy nodded. “I get it. Don’t worry, it was more between you and Clarke anyway.” 

“I know. She’s hard to apologize to, harder to get forgiveness from. I messed up this weekend and wasn’t there when she needed me.” 

“I was,” Bellamy said cooly. 

“I know. Thank you.” 

There was a pause. Bellamy looked over to the animated conversation between Clarke and Mrs. Green. “She really doesn’t need either of us. She can handle herself.” 

“I guess you’re right. But I’ve been her best friend since kindergarten… and you’ve been talking to her for two weeks.”

Bellamy glowered. “Your point?”

“I don’t know you.” Wells said. 

“I don’t know you well either. But I do know that I don’t like people who bail on their friends. When I’m in someone’s life, it’s permanent. However you feel about me doesn’t matter, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Wells eyed Bellamy, whose neck had turned slightly red from annoyance. “You’re not the first guy, or girl,” (Bellamy heard that rumor back in sophomore year, but didn’t know how true it was. He added that to his ever growing list of things he knew and appreciated about Clarke) “to say that to Clarke or about Clarke. You’ll notice none of them are still here. I am.” 

The two young men eyed each other apprehensively, unwilling to relinquish gazes. 

“All actors to the stage, please!” Mrs. Green called. “Clarke will be leading you through a light warm up and the group choreography for the dance scene.” 

So she choreographed too. Jesus. Clarke removed her combat boots and oversized sweater to reveal her leggings and tank top underneath. Bellamy’s mouth went dry as he took in her more exposed form.

Rehearsal went as well as could be hoped for when 25 awkward teenagers attempted to do the hand jive. More than once, Bellamy found himself slightly fixated on other body parts than Clarke’s feet… Mercifully, the group split back up to review the guy and girl numbers from previous rehearsals so he was able to clear his head. 

At the end, Clarke was slightly flushed from the activity and her curly hair was barely contained in the elastic; she was unfairly beautiful. 

“Ready for dinner?” Bellamy said in as neutral of a tone as possible. 

Clarke nodded. “I was hoping to clean up first.” 

“We can swing by your place. I’m in no rush to eat with my mom, O and Lincoln.” 

Clarke laughed. The pair waved goodbye to Wells (who looked slightly put out) and walked to Bellamy’s truck. 

“What were you and Wells talking about earlier?”

Bellamy clenched his jaw, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “He apologized.” They arrived at the truck and split to enter their respective front seats. Bellamy hoped his answer was enough to quell Clarke’s curiosity. 

“Did he do an intimidating, protective talk?” Clarke asked.

“He tried,” Bellamy grinned. “No wonder you have no friends, princess. Jaha scares them all away.” 

“Thanks for the hot tip, Mr. Popularity.” 

“The real key is a flip phone.” 

Clarke laughed and then looked over at Bellamy through squinted eyes. “He means well, but I don’t really need protecting.” 

“I’ve noticed. You can play piano, act, sing, dance, paint, draw, sketch and live alone. Anything I’ve forgotten?”

“Reform campus hooligans.” 

Bellamy looked over at her from the steering wheel. “You better not be talking about me, princess.”

“Oh I’m sorry. Did someone else in this car almost get expelled?” Clarke pretended to look in the backseat. “Nope. I must be talking about you.” 

Bellamy turned down the familiar road to Clarke’s house. “He’s trying to protect you from very specific people.” Bellamy said lowly. 

“What do you mean?”

He paused. “Anyone who could be interested in you.” Bellamy looked over to gauge her reaction. He thought back to O calling this dinner a “double date” at lunch.

“Wells is my best friend,” she said slowly. 

“I understand. He doesn’t though.” 

Clarke sighed. “People have told me since middle school. But he’s never said anything or confessed an undying love for me so I ignore it. It’s easier. It would hurt to lose him. He was the only one who was there through my parents being arrested, my dad going to jail... He’s the only one who knows the full story.“ Clarke trailed off and looked out the window. 

Bellamy felt badly for pushing the issue. Even though he may not be Wells’ biggest fan, he could appreciate the role he played in Clarke’s life. The truck pulled into Clarke’s driveway and then stopped. 

“I get it,” Bellamy said simply and genuinely. 

Clarke reached down to pick up her discarded backpack off the floor. “And anyway, I’ve already told him that it’s different with us.” 

Bellamy’s heart skipped a beat. Us. “What do you mean?” His voice came off less casual than he intended. 

Clarke put her bag on. “I explained that you’re a good guy. You’re not trying to… to… you know.” 

Bellamy enjoyed seeing Clarke fidget and avoid eye contact. “Not trying to what, princess?”

Clarke looked up at the truck’s ceiling. “You’re not trying to fuck me and leave me. You’re not trying to use me. You’re not trying to put a notch in your belt; take your pick.” 

Clarke made to get out of the truck’s cab but Bellamy leaned across the divider and put his hand on her knee. “Clarke.” She took her hand off the handle and turned back to him, finally looking at his face. She reminded him of the girl he picked up on the side of the road-- vulnerable. 

“I’m not a subtle person. I want to make something clear: what Finn did, what other people have done, is wrong. And you don’t deserve it. I don’t like a lot of people, but I like you. I think you’re talented and smart and,” Bellamy trailed off. The corners of Clarke’s mouth turned up. “And beautiful. I’m here because I like your company. And I feel like we have a lot in common. Whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, I’m here.” 

“I thought you didn’t want new friends,” Clarke teased lightly. 

“Shit, I didn’t think I did either.” They both laughed. Bellamy’s hand was still on her leg and she slid hers down to cover his, not interlocking their fingers but tracing over the faintly bruised knuckles. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. 

Her index finger traced circles on his palm and he cleared his throat before saying, “No problem.”

“Wanna come in?” she asked as she finally broke the spell and opened the car’s door handle. 

“Sure,” Bellamy said, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Dinner didn’t seem quite so terrible now.


	8. A Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke accompanies Bellamy to a family dinner and finally understands the complicated relationship he has wit his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I just wanted to give a heads up, there are mentions of emotional/ physical abuse this chapter. Not deeply explained or graphic, but if that could be triggering you may want to skip the scene between Bellamy and his mother arguing.

**Chapter Eight: A Dinner**

As Clarke showered, Bellamy sat in a circular chair in her room and inspected the contents, just as she was allowed to do with his room last week. 

There were numerous sketches scattering the chipped, white desk in the corner. Bellamy assumed Clarke was the artist and took his time with each image, trying to trace the origin to understand the inspiration. Some were more abstract, bright colors swirling together, while others were obviously subjects or places: Wells looking studious, and older woman looking serious, a prison complex, a chess piece; these were segments of Clarke. 

She emerged from the bathroom dressed in her traditional jeans and gray t-shirt. Her wet curly hair laid limply on her shoulders like cooked Ramen noodles. He could tell she had a little makeup on to draw attention to her eyes, and her cheeks were still flushed from the warm water. 

“Find anything you like?” She asked, staring at his hand which still gripped the sketched chess piece. 

Bellamy looked down and put the paper back on her desk. “Sorry.”

“No, I don’t care. I poked around your room.” Clarke dropped her used towel in a hamper and turned to her dresser with assorted jewelry scattered along its top.

“You know you’re really good, right?” Bellamy said, picking up another sketch of Wells, he was smiling and a television screen reflected in his glasses.

Clarke’s flush deepened. “Thanks. I like it because I don’t have to think. I can just look at lines and colors and it goes right from my brain to my hand… if that makes sense.”

Bellamy thought about himself skateboarding and how he could empty himself as he did various tricks in the skate park. “It does.”

“I sketched one of you.” Clarke said after a beat, putting on a small pair earrings with a propped up mirror. 

“You did?”

“It’s not great… it was just from memory--”

“Can I see it?”

“How about when it’s done? Or if you actually sat for one?”

“How about I see this one _and_ sit for one?”

Clarke turned and glared at him. She walked over to the desk where Bellamy was currently spinning in her chair and opened a drawer. Inside were various notebooks, _sketchbooks,_ Bellamy corrected in his head. While she leaned over him he could smell the light vanilla scent of some shampoo or wash she must have used in the shower. He had the sudden urge to pull her into his lap and envelop himself in the scent. Clarke pulled out a black, tattered book and flipped through various pages. Wordlessly, she shoved it into Bellamy’s hands. 

He was on stage. Dark charcoal covered the whole background except for a spotlight on him. He recognized the pose as one of the moves from his “Grease Lightnin” number in the musical. The details of the stage were incredible, each wood panel grained and patterned. He could almost feel the velvet texture of the curtains pulled off to the sides. But what really caught his eye was his expression. The sketch of Bellamy looked like he was mid-song, mouth opened and eyes shut. He looked happy and powerful--not in the strong way he was used to, punching people and threatening them--but powerful in his confidence. Was this how Clarke saw him? God, he hoped so. 

When he looked back up, Clarke was studying him. “I told you it wasn’t done,” she said, taking the book and closing it back into her drawer.

“It’s… I…” Words didn’t fail Bellamy often, but he couldn’t quite describe how it felt to be _seen._ Seen as something other than a problem or a "troubled kid." 

“It’s incredible,” he finally managed to get out. 

Clarke was sitting on her bed, tying on her converse sneakers. “It’s not, but thank you.” Clarke finished with her shoes and stood up. “Ready.” Bellamy managed to push his emotions back down and nodded.

The pair was silent in the car. Bellamy’s grip on the steering wheel was tight and Clarke imagined he was lost in his own thoughts. So, she flipped on the radio and found the alternative station she listened to. She recognized the Chvrches song playing and started humming along. 

“You like Chvrches?” Bellamy said, finally saying something. 

“Mmmhm.” 

Bellamy looked at her briefly. “Interesting. Didn’t peg you for it.”

“What did you think? I listen to show tunes all day?” 

“Well, not really. You strike me as a country girl.” 

Clarke made a choking noise. “Ew.” 

Bellamy laughed. “No country, got it.” Another pause. “I’m not looking forward to this.” 

“I’ve noticed. Lincoln really isn’t a bad guy, you know. He’s in our art class--”

“It’s not Lincoln. I wish Octavia could wait until she was in college or out of the house before she was with a guy because it’s gross, but I know he’s decent.”

Clarke’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is it your mom?”

“Probably,” Bellamy shrugged. “She’s been gone for almost a week and now we pretend to be a normal, happy family? Like she usually sits down to dinner with us? It’s bullshit,” he said, shaking his head. 

“I know. I get it. Me and Abby’s one meal a week is weird. It’s for Octavia, though. Maybe you could think of it that way?”

They pulled up to the apartment parking lot. “I’ll try,” Bellamy said as he cut the engine. Clarke smiled and briefly grabbed his hand before jumping out of the large truck. 

By now, Clarke was familiar with the dilapidated exterior of the Blake’s apartment complex. She navigated the twisting hallways easily and paused outside the door waiting for Bellamy to catch up. He seemed to be walking slower than usual and dragging his feet, quite literally. Clarke empathized with him and vowed to be as much as a buffer as possible between Bellamy and his mom. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder, _what would she look like? How would she act?_

Bellamy reached Clarke and leaned against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway. Clarke was silent and waited for Bellamy to be ready to enter. He had on a faded pair of black jeans, a dark red shirt and gray hoodie, where his traditional beanie was tucked into the pocket. His hands were buried in his jeans and his sleeves were rolled up to show his tanned forearms. 

He wasn’t Clarke’s type. She found herself attracted to traditionally good looking guys or jocks. _What good had that done her?_ A voice in her head chided. And with women, she often found herself drawn to strong personalities that challenged her, an equally lethal combination. Maybe part of her problem with relationships was that she sought them out in the wrong places. 

“Okay,” Bellamy decided. Clarke snapped out of her admiration and nodded. Bellamy lead the way into his apartment. 

The normally pristine kitchen was littered with used dishes and various ingredients. Clarke watched Bellamy notice the mess and his neck flush red, a vein starting to throb. Clarke linked her arm through his and steered them toward the table. 

Octavia, Lincoln, and the woman Clark assumed was Bellamy’s mother, were already seated and chatting. “Bell!” Octavia said brightly when she caught his eye. She bounced up from her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re here,” Clarke heard her mumble into his shirt. The tension Bellamy carried in his shoulders melted as he hugged Octavia back. 

Lincoln stood up and offered his hand to Bellamy once Octavia released him. With a quick once-over, Bellamy met Nathan’s eyes and locked him in a firm grip. “Good to see you,” Lincoln said. Bellamy nodded gruffly. 

“Hey, Clarke!” Lincoln said lightly, giving her a wave. 

“Hey, Lincoln.” 

“Ah, you’re Clarke!” The woman on the end of the table said. “So good to meet you. Bellamy never brings his girls home.” She had straight brown hair that was slightly stringy and dull. Clarke guessed at one time the woman was beautiful, but her skin was worn and abused. The eye make-up she attempted to wear was cracked and too dark for her sallow face. 

“I wonder why,” Bellamy mused out loud. Clarke made to sit down next to his mother _(Mrs. Blake?)_ but Bellamy intercepted and pulled out the chair one over, opposite of Lincoln.

“Well isn’t this nice,” Mrs. Blake said, rubbing her hands together. 

“I agree,” Octavia said brightly. Lincoln looked over and according to his gaze, the sun rose and set with Octavia’s grin. Clarke could tell how deeply he cared for her. 

“What are you doing next year, Lincoln?” Bellamy asked; his arms were crossed and the vein in his neck was still visible. 

“You didn’t want to wait until everyone had a roll before beginning the Inquisition, Bell?” Octavia said. 

“Not at all,” Lincoln said quickly. His arm moved slightly and Clarke guessed he moved it to Octavia’s leg under the table to quell her anger. The Blake siblings both had a streak of hot-headedness to them. “I’ve been offered a soccer scholarship at State and will be looking to study biology and eventually go on to medical school.” Clarke was impressed. Bellamy was not; but at least he had no negative response. 

“That’s amazing! A sturdy job, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Blake said happily. She handed around the bowl of rolls and Clarke took one to have something to do with her hands. The tension in the room was thick and she felt severely out of place. 

“What about you, Clarke?” Lincoln said smoothly, attempting to create conversation. 

“I have auditions coming up in a few weeks for different performing programs,” Clarke said. She felt Bellamy’s head snap to her. 

“Which ones?” he asked, his arms uncrossing for the first time. 

“Well, there’s Northwest, North Carolina and NYU… that’s where I’d like to go. Bit sick of Arcadia,” she grinned. 

“Amen,” Octavia added. 

“What do you plan to _do_ with that?” Mrs. Blake asked. 

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at his mother. “You don’t need to answer that, Clarke.” 

Clarke felt the natural diplomat in her coming out, trying to soothe the tension from the pair. “Oh, well the idea would be to become an actress.” 

“That’s a tough business,” Mrs. Blake said. A nerve pinched in Clarke; she was used to this reaction from adults. Art? Performing art? Where was the money, the success? The economic security? 

“How would you know?” Bellamy asked in a tone of utter impatience. 

“I made a salad,” Octavia offered weakly, passing the bowl to Lincoln first. 

“Well, you just hear things, Bellamy. I had friends growing up that were all trying to do acting; none of them ever made it.” Mrs. Blake said matter-of-factly. 

Lincoln offered Clarke the bowl across the table. She started spooning a heap of greens on to her plate. “It is hard,” Clarke said stoically. “But it’s what I want to do.” 

“Well, you’re certainly cute enough.” Mrs. Blake said. 

“What does _that_ mean?” Bellamy sputtered. 

“You don’t see ugly actresses in the movies do you?”

“I’m interested in stage acting,” Clarke cut in before Bellamy could lash out. His anger was coming off him in sharp bursts; she could feel him itching to defend her, or perhaps more accurately, itching to fight with his mother. Clarke gripped his arm and pulled his ear to her lips. “Ten,” she whispered. 

Bellamy let out a breath and took the bowl from her hands. “Nine,” he said back, taking the salad out of its container. 

“What?” Octavia asked. 

“Nothing,” he chimed back. 

The group started eating and proceeded through the main course with minimal damage. 

“I got a cake for dessert,” Octavia said. “Want to help me cut it?” She asked to Lincoln. He nodded and followed her over to the counter, hand on the small of her back. 

“I’ll get my dessert,” Mrs. Blake said smiling. She got up and Clarke heard the refrigerator door open, and the sound of clinking glass. “Anyone else for a glass of wine?” she asked the room, which suddenly felt very small and hot. 

Bellamy sat up straighter. “We’re seventeen, Aurora.” That must be Mrs. Blake’s first name. His formal address reminded Clarke of how she couldn’t bear to call Abby "mother."

“Oh god, Bellamy, lighten up! The drinking age is 18 everywhere else in the world. You act so maturely.” Clarke heard the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, it felt like Aurora was pouring away her relationships with it. 

Bellamy got out of his seat quickly. Clarke followed him after a beat, not knowing what else to do. Bellamy easily took the glass from Aurora’s hands. “You’re not drinking in the house.” 

“Bellamy, it’s one drink.” Aurora smiled and subtly moved her body closer to Bellamy’s side gripping her wine glass. 

“It’s never ‘one drink’ and you’re not getting drunk here. We’ve talked about this.” The smile slipped off her face and the tone in the room pitched to deadly serious. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke noticed Octavia stopped cutting and was staring at the pair. Lincoln was diligently plating the dessert, trying to pretend he didn’t exist. 

“It’s my house,” she said coolly. 

“You don’t want to start this, Aurora,” Bellamy said. Clarke stood behind him, feeling useless. She knew the pair was entering into dangerous territory, where counting and breathing exercises wouldn’t calm Bellamy down. 

Aurora turned back and went to the cabinet, producing another wine glass. She picked up the bottle of wine left on the counter and poured another one. Bellamy moved in a flash. He grabbed the bottle from her hand and dumped it down the kitchen sink. 

“No!” Aurora yelled. 

Bellamy dumped the glass in his hand down the sink as well, putting the empty flank roughly in the sink. Before he could reach her, Aurora took her remaining glass in her hand, and like an animal caught in headlights, swallowed the entire glass in one gulp. 

“Do you know how much that bottle cost?” she said harshly.

“Leave,” Bellamy said. Clarke couldn’t recognize him--his face and neck were red, his eyes narrowed into slits and his hands balled into fists at his side. 

“How dare you tell me what to do,” Aurora spat, crossing her arms. All pretenses of politeness were shattered; the illusion was broken. 

“Leave,” Bellamy repeated, crossing his arms. Clarke noticed his fingernails were digging into his biceps. 

“You ungrateful, piece of--” Aurora hissed.

“Mom!” Octavia shouted, moving to the other side of Bellamy. “Mom, don’t do this,” she pleaded. Clarke wasn’t quite sure what Octavia was asking for. Don’t yell? Don’t drink? Don’t leave? Don’t treat Bellamy that way? Don’t do any of it? 

“I thought having a girlfriend would lighten you up,” Aurora said with a biting tone, still gripping her empty wine glass. She put it to her lips as if she expected it to magically refill. When she came up empty she put the glass on the counter behind her. “Guess she hasn’t put out yet.” 

The insult rolled off Clarke; this was the first time in memory someone accused her of being a _prude_. She also knew it wasn’t personal, Aurora was trying to get under Bellamy’s skin. He was standing between her and a drink. Clarke felt a surge of warm affection for Abby. Even though Abby was selfish and busy, she never intentionally tried to break Clarke down. If anything, she tried too hard to make things right. 

Aurora's bait worked, Bellamy was furious. “Get out of the house before I call the police.” He took a step forward, as a result Aurora took a step backwards and closer to the door. 

Aurora could feel herself losing ground and started to panic. “They won’t believe you. I’m the adult.”

Bellamy laughed, a harsh biting thing. “I’ll call CPS.” 

Aurora froze. Octavia took a step forward, “Bell--”

Bellamy stuck his hand out to halt Octavia’s movement. Lincoln appeared at her side in a flash. 

“I have years of pictures, journals and memories to make some Social Worker really concerned.” Bellamy hissed. “Abuse is illegal. So is neglect. And if you don’t get the fuck out of this apartment right now--”

“My name is on the lease!” she said; a final attempt. She was smaller than she was a minute ago...a deflated balloon. 

_“And I pay the rent.”_ Bellamy said savagely. The room was silent. Clarke heard Octavia’s sharp intake of breath and chanced a look at her face; Octavia didn’t know her brother was financially supporting them, that much was clear from her shocked expression. 

Bellamy’s arm fell from Octavia’s path and crossed back over his chest. Aurora looked at Octavia with pleading eyes, but said nothing. Clarke could sense something breaking, ending. With a final glance, Aurora grabbed her purse off the hook next to her and slammed the door behind her. 

For a minute, no one moved. Clarke realized she wasn’t incredibly surprised; from Bellamy’s attitude toward his mother, she knew Aurora must have been a nasty piece of work. And although the fight she just witnessed was horrible, she had been in her fair share of awful conversations when her parents were arrested… then divorced… She still remembers when Abby asked her which parent she would rather see in jail, as if a 14-year-old kid should have to decide her parents’ fate...

Octavia cleared her throat. “Do you think she’ll come back?” Clarke caught her meaning--not back tonight, not back next week, back at all. 

Bellamy turned to his younger sister and his gaze softened. “I don’t know, O.” 

Lincoln moved his arm around Octavia’s shoulders and she turned to bury her face in his neck. Bellamy looked at them for a moment, then rounded on Clarke. “Are you okay?”

It took Clarke a moment to realize why he was asking her this. Oh right. Your mom insinuated we were dating and I withholding sex from you. And that I was a pretty face doomed to fail in my chosen career path. Clarke nodded, “totally fine.”

Bellamy looked like he didn’t believe her. “What she said… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she would go after you like that… I mean, I _should_ have... I would have never brought you here--” 

“Not the worst thing said about me,” Clarke said. She meant for it to be a joke, but her voice was too tight and Bellamy started to get that pitying look she hated. 

Octavia pulled out of Lincoln’s arms. “Bell, I didn’t know you were covering the bills.” Bellamy shrugged. “I’ll get a job too. I’m sixteen now, I’ll carry some weight.” 

Bellamy shook his head. “Focus on school, O. It’s fine.” 

“Bellamy,” she said sternly. 

He sighed. “We’ll talk about it.” 

Octavia nodded and looked around the haphazard kitchen and abandoned cake, her eyes lingered on the empty wine bottle and glasses; she shook her head as if to say, what a mess.

“I can’t really stand the sight of this right now,” Octavia choked out, eyes welling. 

“I’ll clean the kitchen,” Bellamy said quickly. “You cooked. Why don’t you and Lincoln go… do… something,” he finished flatly. 

Octavia cracked a grin, “So you’re telling me to do Lincoln?” Lincoln choked on some air and his tanned skin darkened around his ears. Octavia laughed, clearing away the oncoming tears. 

Bellamy tried to glare at her, but honestly was happy to see Octavia happy. “Do something _wholesome._ ”

Lincoln nodded enthusiastically, “Yes. We will.” Clarke stifled a laugh, it was hilarious to see Lincoln, strong soccer captain, afraid of Bellamy-the-outsider-Blake. 

“Take care of her.” He said, shaking Lincoln’s hand. It was a tenuous offer of acceptance, and Lincoln took it with great dignity. 

“Of course.” The couple left after Octavia gathered a few things. Only Bellamy and Clarke remained. 

Bellamy made to turn toward the kitchen, all tension leaving his body. He looked like a rag doll, the life draining out of him once his sister left, once there was no one to perform for. Clarke grabbed his wrist, “hey,” she said softly. “Do you want to sit down for a minute first? Then we can clean the kitchen.” 

He looked like he was going to disagree, but then moved back toward her and they walked to the couch, still linked hand to wrist. Clarke sat next to Bellamy, about three inches were left between their bodies and she could feel his heat. 

Bellamy buried his face in his hands, trying to keep it together. He usually had time to break down after an incident like this, but now there was Clarke. He was so used to being brave for Octavia, he felt unequipped to be around someone he saw as an equal who didn’t need protecting, someone who could actually comfort him. He felt Clarke’s small hand rubbing tentative circles on his back and he leaned into her touch. 

Without much thought or care, he buried his head in her shoulder, nearly suffocating in her curls. His arms wrapped around her delicate frame and he squeezed like she was a lifeline. Clarke responded in kind, leaning into Bellamy, clasping one hand on the back of his neck and the other still tracing shapelessness onto his back. 

Clarke was surprised at how well they fit together and how right it felt. She was whispering unimportant phrases to soothe Bellamy and felt like she wasn’t out of her emotional depth, even though it had been a long time since someone had been vulnerable around her. Connection came back to Clarke as easily as breathing, and felt a little piece of her damaged heart click back into place. 

After a minute or two, Bellamy pulled back slightly and stared at Clarke’s face. She looked strong and concentrated. He wondered if she was still looking at him with artist’s eyes, picking out the lines and wrinkles, the slopes of confusion in his brow or frustration set in his chin. 

“Sorry,” he said. He pulled himself out of her neck and settled in the couch next to her, legs pressed against one another. Her arm came to link around his and she leaned on his shoulder. 

“Don’t be.” 

And there they sat. A few minutes? A few hours? Bellamy couldn’t be sure. But he did know in that time he was completely comfortable and didn’t feel like he was performing for anyone. Clarke was just an extension of himself. 

At some point, he must have dozed off, finally collapsing from the emotional and physical toll of the day. When he woke up, the light outside his window was gone and he was fully recumbent on the couch, covered with one of their few spare, patchy blankets. He looked around for Clarke, but the apartment was empty and for a moment he felt as if he dreamt the whole evening. Until he walked into the spotless kitchen and found a note resting on the table.

_Wanted to let you sleep-- caught an Uber home. Leftovers are in the fridge._  
Worst double date of my life, think about how you’ll make it up to me.  
-Clarke 

Bellamy grinned as he read the last line, recognizing her easy sarcasm through the writing. His heart also fluttered when he read the word “date.” Did she see it that way? Or was she just teasing him because of Octavia’s invitation? 

He flipped the paper over and there was a light sketch of himself sleeping on the back. He recognized the think quality of the paper now, it must have been torn from a small sketchbook. On the paper, his eyes were blissful and he looked completely at peace. Bellamy immediately took the scrap and brought it into his room, using a tack to push it into the wall above his dresser. 

He wished he could see himself as Clarke did.


	9. A Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy rehearse their Danny and Sandy scenes alone on the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for supporting and reviewing this story! It is spurning me to write faster :) Most of the next chapter is done, and I've re-mapped out the story, making me think it'll end up being 24 chapters instead of the original 18 I predicted. There will be some direct quotes from the songs and book of Grease the Musical, which I do not own :) All credit to the respective writers.

**Chapter Nine: A Scene**

The following Monday, Clarke walked into the theater expecting the cast of 20 or so students to be buzzing around as they usually were, laughing and joking before Mrs. Greene called rehearsal to order. She was surprised when the theater was empty, save her director sitting on the edge of the stage. 

“Where is everyone?” Bellamy asked under his breath. 

“Ah, welcome!” Mrs. Greene exclaimed, clapping her hands together. 

“Is this a lead rehearsal?” Clarke asked. Her question cleared up nothing for Bellamy. 

“It is! It was on the calendar,” Mrs. Greene said, enthusiasm only dimming slightly. 

“Of course,” Clarke nodded. In reality, she did not look at her calendar because she knew she was expected (or called) every day of rehearsal. 

“No one else is coming?” Bellamy asked, still trying to catch up. 

“No,” Clarke said, discarding her backpack on a set in the front row. “Just us.” 

“We’ll be running through your dialogue scenes today and your stage blocking,” Mrs. Greene explained kindly. “I want to focus on act two today, especially scenes two and four. I figured it would be best to practice them for the first time without an audience.” 

Clarke’s face reddened and she nodded hastily. Shockingly, Bellamy did not know all the scenes by heart and was unclear which part of the play they would be rehearsing. 

“Clarke have you run through ‘Hopelessly Devoted’ before?” Mrs. Greene asked. 

“I’ve been playing through it at home,” she said, straightening her back. Bellamy admired her dedication, it inspired him to actually care about his performance, if for no other reason than to please her. 

"Bellamy, have you practiced your character's song, 'Sandy'?"

Bellamy cleared his throat. "Uh, no." 

“That's okay, look at it and we'll start with that one next week. Clarke let’s pull out one of the benches and set it just there,” Mrs. Green pointed to a spot with a neon yellow X taped on the stage floor. “Bellamy, you’re off stage until the end of her song, so why don’t you hang out in the right wing until we’re ready for you.” Bellamy hopped on stage and jogged over to the wing, keeping his eyes trained on Clarke. 

For the first ten minutes or so, the stage was boring to watch. Clarke spoke through the song, and Mrs. Greene grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her this way and that. Clarke scribbled furious notes in her script and then tucked the pencil into her bun when not in use. 

“Okay! Ready to run?” Mrs. Greene asked finally, and Bellamy shook himself from his daydream to view Clarke’s performance. 

Clarke nodded. And then, she sang. 

_“Guess mine is not the first heart broken. My eyes are not the first to cry. I’m not the first to know, there’s just no getting over you.”_

Her voice was clear, softer than usual, and her eyes were vulnerable. Bellamy could feel the pain on the fringes of each note and it was intoxicating. She walked from the back to downstage center, letting the next verse soar over the crowd. 

_“I know I’m just a fool who’s willin’ to sit around and wait for you. But baby can’t you see? There’s nothing else for me to do?”_

Clarke’s voice turned slightly frustrated or hopeless (as the song called for). Her arms came up to gesture and clutch at her heart. For the next few lines she moved and sat on the makeshift bench on the stage, singing directly to the audience… until the end. On the last line, Clarke turned her head to the wings, singing directly to Bellamy. _“Hopelessly devoted to…”_ their eyes connected and Clarke’s breath hitched, warbling for the first time throughout the number, _“...you.”_

Silence fell over the auditorium, and it seemed for a moment as if Clarke and Bellamy were right next to each other instead of 25 feet apart. The air was charged and even though Bellamy logically knew this song was from Sandy to Danny, it resonated as Clarke to Bellamy.

“Well done, Clarke! Keep the wistful look at the end, it adds a layer of pining and depth to the character. And that’s your cue, Mr. Blake!” The spell was broken and Bellamy bustled on stage. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“No matter!” Mrs. Greene was infuriatingly peppy and he wished she would disappear at the moment. 

The pair made it through the rest of the scene unscathed, but Bellamy was realizing more and more through his dialogue what an asshole his character was. He felt the need to apologize to Clarke at the end of each run, and was mildly insulted that Mrs. Greene felt like he embodied the character of Danny. 

“He’s the worst,” Bellamy finally said after a fourth successful runthrough of the “Hopelessly Devoted” scene. 

Mrs. Greene chuckled. “Yes, he is. And you recognizing it is good, Bellamy! His character was written as an archetype of the rough-and-tumble teenage boy in the 1950s, where the gender stereotypes were much starker. Do you think there are still guys like this today?” 

Bellamy was taken off guard and the skeezy guys in his grade flashed before his eyes, like Finn and Murphy. “Oh, I mean… yeah.”

Mrs. Greene nodded thoughtfully. “Even though it’s set in the 1950’s, I think there’s quite a lot of truth and parallels to Arcadia High now. That’s why I chose this otherwise over-produced show.” 

Clarke said quietly, “Remember. It’s acting. I don’t think you’re Danny.” Bellamy smiled at her, glad she could understand his thoughts without an explanation. 

“Too right, now let’s move to scene four.” There it was again--Clarke’s blushing cheeks. “We need to be incredibly careful with how we handle this scene. Obviously, these topics are not the same in 2018 as they were in 1950.” Bellamy’s brow furrowed. “You look confused, Mr. Blake?” 

“I don’t remember what scene this is.” 

“Take a moment and read it to yourself,” Mrs. Greene suggested. 

Bellamy wondered how he had made it a month into rehearsal without reading or retaining this Drive-In scene where Danny pressures and essentially assaults Sandy. “What! How do people want them together?” 

Mrs. Greene’s smile was absent now, and she looked grave. “Yes, times have changed. We’re going to act accordingly. We’re changing the script.” 

Clarke’s eyebrows flew up. “We are?”

“Yes. Danny and Sandy are not going to end up together.” Mrs. Greene let this announcement sit. “Sandy is going to walk away at the end of the script, as a message Danny’s treatment of her shouldn’t be tolerated.” 

“Good,” Bellamy muttered. Clarke was quiet. 

“How do you feel about that, Clarke?” Mrs. Greene asked. 

“I’m glad… but… does Sandy have that much agency?” she asked tentatively.

“Good question. As the original script reads and with a traditional performance, no she doesn’t. To make this work, you’re going to need to keep this in mind with every interaction. Your indignation and frustration with Danny should be dialed up to 11.” Clarke nodded, coming more around to the idea.

“With that in mind, let’s look at this scene.” Mrs. Greene pulled out two chairs to be their mock car, and talked both students through the scene, including the necessary changes. “Of course, if you two would rather delay practicing the kiss, we can wait. I think it gets less awkward if practiced before our technical week, but it is entirely up to you.” 

Clarke turned to look at Bellamy, and now he understood why her face had turned so red at the mention of this scene. Him and Clarke were going to kiss, well, him and _Sandy_ were going to kiss. “Are you okay with it?” 

It was a moment before Bellamy realized Clarke was concerned about _him_ wanting to kiss _her_ ; he almost laughed out loud. He thought about kissing her nearly every day for the last few weeks. “I am if you are, princess.” 

“Okay,” she said. Was it just Bellamy, or did she sound nervous?

“Excellent, let’s begin. And Clarke, if there’s any point you want to stop you just say ‘scene’ and we’ll pause. Bellamy, let’s start with no hand gestures right now to just get a feel for the words.” 

Bellamy nodded. Even though he was playing Danny, it would be his fault if Clarke felt uncomfortable. He was playing an asshole, he wasn’t going to be one. Clarke was always so professional, but he didn’t know everything about her. What if this scene brought up terrible memories of something in her past?… God, he hoped not. 

He swallowed back his distaste and tried to be as charming as possible while saying the lines. Finally, he said their cue: “I really like you Sandy.” He held his breath, and leaned in. 

Clarke’s lips were startlingly warm and soft. He tried to keep his mouth stiff and merely hold the movement for the benefit of their future audience, but to his surprise, Clarke’s mouth started to move against his. She tilted her head and her lips parted slightly, just enough to catch his bottom lip between them and apply slight pressure. The stage be damned, Bellamy’s hand moved of its own accord into Clarke’s hair. His head was dizzy, his heart was pounding and he couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. How could it? When he had Clarke and--

Mrs. Greene cleared her throat. Clarke pulled back as if she had been shocked. She blinked dumbly three times before glancing down at her script. “Danny, take it easy! What are you trying to do!” 

They muddled through the lines and Mrs. Greene addressed them kindly at the end. “That was a good place to start. I think the kiss is fine without any added gestures. Clarke, were you okay with Bellamy’s hand in your hair?” Now Bellamy blushed. He wished he could melt into the wooden stage. 

“Yes,” Clarke said smally. 

“Okay. Let’s call it there for today, we’ll have another lead’s rehearsal next Tuesday with a few others.” 

Clarke gathered her bag quickly and exited the auditorium before Bellamy had the chance to kick his skateboard under his arm. He jogged out the door, squinting in the sunlight to see what direction Clarke went in. 

What was she thinking? Clarke chastised herself as she walked. Bellamy had been a completely normal, professional human being and then she… she… Clarke shook her head. What happened? What made her give in to the kiss like that? 

Obviously, it felt incredible. Bellamy was a talented kisser. But Clarke kissed many talented kissers, and she still prided herself on keeping her emotional cool at all times. 

This was Bellamy. Not Finn. Not some random guy who she could treat with indifference and cut out of her life when it became inconvenient to her. Bellamy was different. And look at how little he had. Not that Clarke pitied him; but she couldn’t bear to pull him into her web and then fuck up their easy relationship. She would rather be there for him to deal with his mom, to help hold back Octavia’s hair, than to kiss him whenever she wanted. 

“Clarke!” Bellamy called out. Clarke couldn’t pinpoint why she was walking away from him, and somewhere on the edge of her consciousness was aware her walking away made the whole situation a lot weirder. 

Clarke made her feet come to a halt and heard Bellamy running behind her. “Clarke, we should--”

“Don’t you have Dropship?” She cut in, slightly desperate. 

“We got out early, I still have an hour until my shift. Let me drive you home.” How could she say no? Bellamy drove her home whenever he could. She could call Wells, but she didn’t want him to ask her what was wrong. She eventually nodded and followed Bellamy to his truck. 

Once they were securely inside, Clarke fixed her face out the window. 

“Why did you walk out like that?”

“I knew you had work.” 

“Bullshit,” Bellamy said. 

Clarke turned to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“That’s bullshit, cummon Clarke. I know when you’re closed off.” 

Clarke sighed. “We kissed.”

“Yeah, I was there. It was in the script.” Bellamy said carefully. 

“No Bellamy, you know as well as I do, Danny and Sandy didn’t kiss, _we_ did.” 

Bellamy fought against the corners of his mouth turning up. So Clarke felt something too. “I’m sorry I got a little carried away--”

“You? You were professional! I was the one who got too into it.” Clarke buried her face in her hands. 

Bellamy’s heart felt like it was going to hammer through his ribs. “And how do you feel about that?”

“God, Bellamy, I don’t know!” Clarke almost sounded angry. “I didn’t mean to! I’ve had to kiss loads of people on stage, and it’s never been a problem. I don’t know what happened.” Bellamy didn’t feel like this was a complete thought, and stayed silent so Clarke could process. For a full minute, they listened to the small squeaks of the car as they swerved around Arcadia’s back roads. 

“You sound angry,” Bellamy said neutrally, trying not to color his voice with pain.

“I’m not angry,” Clarke said, her voice much softer than before. “I’m just confused. I love having you in my life. And I love being your friend. I don’t want anything to jeopardize that.” 

Bellamy took a deep breathe. So… either Clarke was afraid developing something more would harm their friendship if it ended, or she didn’t think it was worth the risk to begin with. Bellamy pulled into Clarke’s driveway and put the truck in park. 

When he looked over, her hazel eyes were clouded and dark. Her thumbnail was between her teeth, and her brows nearly knitted together. He spotted the forgotten pencil in her bun. “I told you before, whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, I’m here. I meant it.” 

“Why do we always talk in this stupid truck,” Clarke mused; Bellamy noticed she was deflecting. 

“Clarke,” he chided. 

“I know, I know. What does that mean? Does that mean you want… something more?” 

Bellamy sucked in a breath. Well, there it was. The question was plain, undisguised and waiting for him to a make a move. At dinner last week Aurora said he never brought his girls home, and she was right-- because he never had girls. He was too busy working, worrying and fighting to be in a relationship. Of course, there had been the random hookup or two, predominantly via Nathan’s prompting, but never anything serious. Was he ready for that? His home life was in shambles; but Clarke already knew that, and still kissed him back.

Clarke mistook his silence for awkwardness. “Of course you don’t. I’m just going to leave--” Clarke opened the car door and made to jump out, but Bellamy grabbed her arm. 

“I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel about you,” Bellamy said lowly. “I’ve already told you how incredible I think you are. I think you’re great for me... I just don’t know if I’m great for you.” The last part hurt in a way he didn’t expect it to, because it was true. Who was he, a guy one move away from being expelled, to distract Clarke from her clearly bright future?

Clarke lightly closed the door and pulled Bellamy’s large hand between her two tiny ones. “Bellamy, you’re so loyal and smart and talented. I’m a mess. I was screwing someone else’s boyfriend for eight months. I haven’t visited my dad in prison since this year started. I don’t talk to my mom. I’m not good at this. I’ve never had a good, healthy relationship,” she pleaded with him. 

“I’ve never had any relationship,” he admitted. 

“What happens when I leave in four months? To some program across the country? You have Octavia,” she said gently. Bellamy never considered this aspect of their union before. Of course, she wasn’t wrong (she never was), and it deflated him even more. 

“I’m worried I’ll ruin us,” Clarke said quietly. “And I really couldn’t take losing you.” 

How could he argue with her? There was no flaw in her logic. In his head, he always figured his first kiss with Clarke would follow quickly with a relationship, but he didn’t account for her apprehension. He couldn’t pressure her into something, he thought quickly of his slimy character Danny and knew it was the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Okay,” he said after some difficulty. 

Clarke was silent. “You’re my best friend, Bell.” She had never used the nickname before, but he loved the way it rolled off her tongue. 

“Don’t tell Wells,” he joked, trying to pull himself out of the negative thought spiral in his head. 

“I’m serious. Wells has known me forever, but he doesn’t read me like you. He doesn’t get me the same way.” Clarke leaned forward and put a light kiss on Bellamy’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Bellamy shut his eyes, savoring the feeling of her skin against his. “Seven o’clock sharp.” 

“Good,” she said sadly, before hopping out of the truck and closing her door. She heard the peeling as Bellamy left her driveway hastily. With each step to the door she could feel a weight sink heavier in her chest that echoed: _what have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a part of many theater productions makes me pretty confident you cannot change copyrighted material, but this is FanFic so we're doing it :) Maybe don't try and do it in real life though. Thanks for reading!


	10. A Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy try to deal with their new complicated relationship. Bellamy finally sits down to watch Grease with Clarke and Wells.

**Chapter Ten: A Movie**

Clarke didn’t sleep well that night. Every time she almost dozed off, she felt the ghost of Bellamy’s lips and the light pressure of his large hand against the nape of her neck. Her eyes would shoot open and she would again talk herself through the reasons she made the right choice: _Bellamy had become one of her closest friends, she couldn’t destroy that. Even though she hadn’t heard back from her programs yet, she knew next year for certain she would leave Arcadia, and then what would they do?_ These were the logical thoughts. 

There were also darker thoughts: _You ruin everything you touch. You’re not ready for a real relationship. You put yourself before everyone else, you would consume selfless Bellamy in a blaze…_

The dark thoughts were the ones keeping her up. 

By the time Clarke’s alarm sounded at 5:30, she was already awake. She showered, even though she also did the night before, to wake herself up and clean off the itchy feeling of inferiority. 

Clarke moved through her morning routine in a daze, still feeling squeezed by her anxious spiral. True to his word, Bellamy arrived in her driveway at 6:59. Clarke took a deep breath; she wasn’t allowed to act upset. Bellamy was the one who offered himself, and she had the chance to take it. She rejected him, trying to mirror his selflessness. Bellamy had every right to be emotional. 

Clarke berated herself with this mantra until she opened the car door. “Good morning,” she said as brightly as she could muster. 

“Morning,” Bellamy tried to crack a grin, but it didn’t reach his darkly circled eyes. Clarke’s already fractured self broke a little more. The following silence was tense, which was new for the pair. Clarke never experienced an uncomfortable silence with Bellamy before and she hated it. 

“Where’s Octavia?” Clarke suddenly asked, realizing the quiet was usually perforated by Octavia’s questions or insistence for radio control. 

“Lincoln’s bringing her,” Bellamy said. So their triad was a duo now. Which meant Clarke had many more silent car rides ahead of her. 

“This sucks,” Bellamy said after a while. 

Clarke laughed. “It does.” 

“Can we just be..” Bellamy searched for the word as he pulled into a school parking lot space. 

“Us?” Clarke supplied. 

“That would be great,” Bellamy said. He paused before continuing, “I meant it before. I’m here for whatever happens. I don’t see my… feelings… about you changing.” Clarke’s heart pounded. “But I would never pressure you into something you weren’t ready for or make you feel bad about not feeling the same. You’re too important to me.” 

Clarke’s brain screamed out for her to tell Bellamy she did feel the same or to screw it all together and grab his collar to pull him in for another searing kiss, but the dark thoughts were there and waiting: _You ruin everything…_

“You’re important to me too.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Clarke leaned across the center console and pulled him into a hug, indulging herself for a moment to be lost in his scent and the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. The hug lasted longer than strictly necessary. Bellamy tried to train himself to be impervious pressed against Clarke, but how the hell could he do that when she was such a perfect fit? 

“To school?” Clarke said finally. 

“To hell,” Bellamy corrected. The pair laughed tentatively and walked slowly through the gates, ignoring the bustle of other students and loud conversations. 

**********  
**(555)-6780 11:54am  
Hey Clarke, this Nathan. I stole ur # off Bellamy’s phone at lunch. Need ur help wit something. **

Clarke wondered what on Earth Nathan could be enlisting her help for. Although they attended school together since third grade, Clarke could not recall any direct conversation with him.

**Clarke 11:57am  
Sure, what’s up? **

**Nathan 12:00pm  
Bellamy’s bday is next Tuesday. Want to throw him a surprise party Sat— could you keep him busy and then bring him by when ready?**

Clarke was initially surprised Bellamy hadn’t said anything about his birthday, but then realized it made perfect sense. Bellamy did not willingly talk about himself or make himself the center of attention. Of course she would help, she would also have to think of the perfect gift…

**Clarke 12:02pm  
Count me in. **

Nathan sent back a string of emojis varying from the thumbs up sign to many red 100’s underlined and multiple smiley faces. Clarke suspected no one made a big deal about Bellamy’s birthday and made a mental note to check with Octavia about potential gift ideas. 

In sixth period art class, Lincoln moved his stool next to Clarke’s, keeping her as a buffer between him and Bellamy. Clarke smiled to herself; she enjoyed the tentative, threatening friendship between the two of them. 

The teacher gathered everyone’s attention. “As your final senior project, you’ll be sketching portraits. With a partner, you’ll take turns sitting for portraits and creating them. You may select the style of art that works best for you as the artist and for the subject; do not feel compelled to stay within the bounds of realism.” 

Bellamy scooched closer to Clarke. “Guess it’s time for me to sit for a picture.” 

“Guess so.” 

“When she said ‘don’t be bound by realism’ does that mean I can Picasso you?” Bellamy whispered. 

Clarke rolled her eyes, “You mean paint in the Cubism style? Good luck.” 

Once the class was dismissed, Clarke went up to the instructor to ask something Bellamy couldn’t make out. 

“We’re good to go,” Clarke said brusquely, gathering up her art supplies.

“Go where?” Bellamy asked. 

“I’m not sketching you in this white classroom,” she scoffed. 

“Isn’t white good? For all the light?”

Clarke looked at Bellamy like he suggested they fly. “No, it’s _too_ much light. There’s no texture for the background either. We’re going to find somewhere better.” 

Bellamy held up his hands in surrender, “Whatever the artist wants.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Cummon.” 

Thus began their pilgrimage across Arcadia High School’s campus. A few times Clarke thought she found a spot and set up all her supplies, just to grumble about something being wrong to pack up and move again. 

Finally, the circled all the way to the theater and Clarke’s eyes lit up. “Perfect.” 

There was a metal bench outside the auditorium doors where Clarke immediately instructed Bellamy to sit. She sprawled out on the ground, pulling out a baggie of various charcoal bits. 

“Can you put your beanie on?” Clarke asked, pointing to the traditional burgundy cloth sticking out of his hoodie pocket. 

“Sure,” Bellamy said, pulling the familiar hat on over his forehead. 

Clarke got up and moved closer, pulling on the top of his hat to create the desired effect. Then she knelt down and picked up Bellamy’s skateboard, wordlessly standing it on its end and tucking it into his side. She was inches from his face now, and Bellamy tried to keep his mind blank. Clarke lightly touched his cheek, encouraging him to tilt his head to the left, coming to rest on his hand clutching the skateboard. “Perfect,” Clarke muttered, her hot breath tickling his nose. 

Before he could reflect on the small details of her face, she vanished, scampering back to her spot on the concrete. “Try and stay as still as possible,” she instructed. 

Easier said than done. Bellamy was someone with a lot of bodily energy, and he didn’t realize how taxing sitting absolutely still was. Plus, he kept trying to lean over and see the progress of the portrait. 

“I will punch my fist through the canvas if you lean over one more time, Bell.” Clarke said sternly. 

Bellamy grinned at the nickname and her fake petulance. “And risk your final project grade? I don’t think so, princess.” 

Clarke glared. Before she could retaliate, the bell echoed. Bellamy immediately jumped up and tried to look at the canvas, but she clutched it to her chest. “Not yet.” 

“Fine,” he said. Bellamy bent down and helped pick up the various bits of charcoal and blotted paper towels. Their hands brushed as they reached for the same final stick of black, but Clarke let her fingers linger instead of retreating. They smiled at each other, finally feeling like their relationship returned to normalcy. 

After returning the art supplies (and Clarke discretely handing over her canvas for their teacher to store) the duo walked back to the theater. 

Bellamy cleared his throat. “Are we going to rehearse the same scenes as yesterday?” He would have to steel himself against another kiss from Clarke if that was the case. 

Clake caught his meaning, “No, or I don’t think so at least. Not until the next lead’s rehearsal, I would imagine.” 

The busy theater was a relief, distracting the pair from their own thoughts. Wells came up to Clarke and Bellamy, greeting them eagerly. “How was rehearsal yesterday?” 

“Good,” Clarke said too quickly. Wells’ forehead creased as he tried to understand Clarke’s real meaning. 

“Watched Clarke sing and found out I need to learn a new song,” Bellamy said breezily. 

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You really should watch the movie.” 

“You’ve never seen the movie?” Wells asked. 

“I have, I know O made me at some point, but I don’t remember it.” 

“I have it,” Wells offered. “We could watch it at my place after rehearsal.” 

Bellamy waited to see Clarke’s reaction. “Do you have work tonight, Bell?”

“Four to eight,” he said. 

“We could do it after,” Wells suggested. 

“I’m down,” Clarke agreed. Bellamy knew he _could_ say no, that Clarke and Wells had been friends and hung out for practically their entire lives, but right now thinking about Clarke snuggled up to Wells watching a movie made his stomach twist.

“Sounds good,” Bellamy added casually. “I’ll bring leftover pizza.” 

“I loved Dropship pizza as a kid!” Clarke exclaimed. 

“Ugh, too much cheese.” Wells wrinkled his nose.

“You’re lactose intolerant,” Clarke said impatiently. 

“Welcome!” Mrs. Greene called the students to order. “Today we’ll be running through all the numbers we have so far, and learning the choreography for the final scene.” 

Clarke nodded and starting de-robing. She kicked off her lace-up combat boots and heavy sweater, revealing her tank top and leggings underneath. She pulled out clearly loved jazz shoes from her backpack and slipped them on. “Everyone on stage!” 

Once again, Bellamy found himself required to stare at Clarke in tight clothing and it was doing nothing to help him contain his more-than-friendly feelings for her. The problem wasn’t that she had a great body (which she did), but it was how she moved that was captivating. When Clarke danced she was so graceful, energy radiated from her feet all the way to the tips of her fingers. Bellamy’s body followed Clarke’s steps with diligence and his mind was free to wander…

At the end of practice the students ran through all the show numbers they knew so far, finishing with Clarke’s rendition of “Hopelessly Devoted.” Bellamy sat in the audience to appreciate her performance more directly than hiding in the wings. He felt a swell of affection for her, making his chest warm and tight. 

Bellamy understood the concrete barrier between them being together: Clarke’s end of summer departure and inevitable expiration date would put a damper on any blooming romance. It was easy to push his feelings aside when they were talking in classes or distracted at work, but how would he do that kissing her over and over again on stage? He felt their obstacles were insignificant and overcomable. Bellamy never wanted anyone the way he wanted Clarke Griffin. 

Clarke looked to the empty wing and sang her last note; the auditorium erupted into applause. Bellamy clapped loudly, catching Clarke’s eye and nodded at her for a job well done. _I’m so screwed,_ Bellamy thought to himself. 

****

“It’s almost an exciting day, isn’t that right?” Indra’s normally stern face had a slight smile. 

“You know I don’t like to make a big deal of it,” Bellamy reminded her, refilling a pitcher of soda for a large softball team occupying most of the dining hall at Dropship. 

“But 18 is a big deal,” she said. 

“Why? So I can vote and buy a lotto ticket?” Bellamy asked, although he knew his legality would open many more doors for him in his family life. 

“It’s the age you need to be to advance in Management.” 

Bellamy stopped filing the pitcher and put it down. “You want to promote me?”

“You’re a hard worker, never call out, a great leader, why wouldn’t I?” Indra’s face broke out into a true smile, a rare sight. “It also comes with a raise, which I know could help out.” 

Bellamy grinned back. “It would, thank you.”

“Thank me when it’s all said and done. Right now focus on the 16 little kids wreaking havoc,” Indra said, becoming more severe again.

“Will do,” Bellamy said, picking up his pitcher and feeling a burst of renewed energy. 

**Clarke 7:04pm  
Wells’ address is 1 Grounder Ln. See you at 8? **

Bellamy stared at the screen and grinned. 

**Bellamy 7:08pm  
Of course, princess. **

On his way out the door, Bellamy took a pepperoni pizza for him and Clarke to share and an order of garlic knots Wells could eat. 

Bellamy did not have a smartphone, but an old battered atlas he kept in the backseat of his truck. Luckily he did not need it tonight, being very familiar with Arcadia’s roads. The drive was short, clearly Wells lived on the wealthier side of town. The house was large, and Bellamy mused that Principal Jaha must make significantly more than the high school teachers. 

Bellamy walked to the front door and knocked. Principal Jaha answered, making Bellamy suddenly self-conscious of his bright red Dropship uniform. Although Principal Jaha was in jeans and a sweater himself, which was jarring. 

“Good evening, Bellamy.” 

“Uh, hello Principal Jaha.” 

“Come in!” Principal Jaha’s face was almost unrecognizable with a grin, rather than his disappointed frown frequently seen at school. 

Bellamy walked in the tall foyer; it reminded him of Clarke’s house. Her house was even bigger with all new appliances and furnishings. Wells’ house was a bit more lived in, a little more outdated. He noticed several City of Light church magnets, and realized the Jahas must be religious.

“We’re in here!” Clarke’s voice echoed. Bellamy nodded to Principal Jaha and exited the kitchen as quickly as possible, following the sound of Clarke’s voice.

The living room boasted a sectional so large all three teenagers could lay flat without touching. The television was a near equal in size, and Bellamy thought shamefully of his and Octavia’s small 21 inch screen at home. 

Clarke lifted herself and made her way to Bellamy. “Glad you’re here!... with food,” she said wiggling her eyebrows. 

Bellamy laughed. “Pizza for us, garlic knots for Wells.” 

Wells was taken aback. “Thanks, man.”

“That was really sweet, Bell,” Clarke said, taking the small box off the top and passing it back to Wells. “Are you ready for the cinematic greatness that is Grease the movie?” 

“Of course,” Bellamy said, plopping himself next to Clarke, blocking her contact with Wells. 

“Let’s get started,” Wells said, clapping his hands together. He clicked ‘play’ and the bright colors and bopping music filled the room. 

“We don’t sing this song!” Bellamy protested, taking a bite of pizza. 

“Nope. It’s not in the original script. Although we’re not following the original script either, we’re doing one of the revivals.” Clarke explained. 

“How many times has it been revived?”

“Too many,” Wells said darkly. 

“Shouldn’t we just… let it die?” Bellamy said. 

Clarke laughed, “I think the entire musical theater world would be fine with that. But I like what Mrs. Greene’s doing with it.” 

“True,” Bellamy conceded. 

“What do you mean?” Wells asked. 

“She’s changing the ending, Danny and Sandy don’t end up together,” Clarke said. 

“What?! Isn’t that the whole point of this stupid thing,” Wells said, gesturing vaguely to the cheerleaders and Greasers singing about their summer vacations. 

“I don’t think so,” Bellamy said. “It’s more about being true to yourself. Danny and Sandy only like the remodeled versions of each other, so why would they be together? There’s nothing real there. Plus they explore the transition to adulthood with Rizzo and Frenchie, I like that they’re at the same point in high school we are. It’s more relatable.” 

The two other teens stopped chewing and looked at Bellamy. 

“I mean, or something like that. What do I know? I’m new to this.” 

“Well said,” Wells said, slightly put out. 

Clarke beamed at Bellamy. “You read the play.”

“Of course, had to after yesterday.” 

“What happened yesterday?” Wells asked before Clarke could misdirect his attention. 

“Oh, we had to rehearse a scene I forgot existed. Figured I should read the play all the way through,” Bellamy said smoothly. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What scene?” Wells said. 

The pair was silent. “Bellamy’s song scene,” Clarke said. 

Wells thought carefully. “The Drive-In?”

Clarke nodded. Wells didn’t respond, but pushed the garlic knots aside and crossed his arms. Bellamy noticed the tension and saw Clarke constantly glancing at Wells. Honestly, Wells was being a bit dramatic. Hadn’t he gotten over the casting choice? And if so, hadn’t he realized Bellamy and Clarke would be kissing on stage? 

Wells loved Clarke; that was the only explanation. Bellamy couldn’t blame him, but he could disagree with his obnoxious behavior and how guilty he made Clarke feel because of her exercising her free will. Hell, Bellamy was in love with Clarke (he tried not to panic with how easily his brain adopted the L word) and was rejected by her, but that didn’t mean he was a moody asshole about it. The more Bellamy ruminated, the more angry he became. 

Soon enough, the infamous Drive-In scene was playing on the television and Wells asked in a meek voice, “did Mrs. Greene rewrite this scene?”

“No,” Clarke said. 

“I’m sure you know it now,” Wells said, leaning over to look at Bellamy. 

Bellamy was about to retort when Clarke beat him to it. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?”

“Are you not over Bellamy getting Danny?” Clarke asked, clearly frustrated. 

“I don’t think that’s it,” Bellamy said before he could help himself. 

“You got the role and you don’t even know the play or give a damn,” Wells said bitterly. 

Clarke picked up the remote and paused the movie. “How is that any of your business?”

“I’m in the show,” Wells said, his argument wearing thin. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I work almost full time and I didn’t want to do this play anyway. I’m doing the best I can,” Bellamy said. 

Clarke was still looking at Wells for his reaction. “You don’t care about that. You care that I kiss Bellamy.”

The truth landed on a quiet, terse room. Bellamy felt like he should leave, but also still had adrenaline coursing through him and a fierce desire to protect Clarke. 

Wells was a deer caught in headlines. “Clarke…”

Clarke stood up. “Is that it?” Wells stood up and tried to move toward Clarke, but she pulled back. “Is that the problem?”

“I’ve watched you get hurt by so many people.” His voice came out as a croak. “And I’ve always been there. For years. I… I would take care of you, I know you the best out of anyone.”

“That might have been true once, but it isn’t anymore.” Clarke said gently. Bellamy could tell she was trying to be kind and must have prepared for this moment. He couldn’t help the leap his heart did when she insinuated their friendship was her closest. Wells also did not miss this fact and his eyes flickered to Bellamy, still seated on the couch. 

“I love you, Clarke.”

Bellamy held his breath; god, he felt for the guy. Clarke did as well, a tear fell down her cheek. 

“I love you as my friend, Wells. That’s it.” 

Wells nodded and blinked to clear the mist out of his eyes. “Right. Well, enjoy each other then.”

“Don’t do that,” Clarke said sharply. “Bellamy has nothing to do with this.” 

“Doesn’t he?” Wells laughed, not with joy, but bitter derision. 

Bellamy took this as his cue to stand up. “You said your piece and she said hers.”

Wells laughed again. “Really? Clarke, you’re telling me nothing is going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” Clarke hissed. 

“You have no feelings for him?”

Clarke hesitated. Bellamy looked at her face: her eyes were cast down and her jaw was clenched. Clarke couldn’t answer no, and that fact simultaneously made Bellamy ecstatic and heartbroken. 

Wells cut back in, “I knew it. You fall for anyone who shows you attention—“

“Enough,” Bellamy said. His voice came out as a growl. 

Principal Jaha appeared in the hallway and tentatively knocked on the door frame. “Everything all right in here?” Bellamy realized how tense their conversation must have looked; Wells and Bellamy both with balled hands and Clarke with tear tracks down her cheeks. 

“We were just leaving, Mr. Jaha,” Clarke said firmly. 

“Need a ride home, Clarke or Bellamy?” Jaha offered. 

“No, we’re all set.” Clarke spoke for the both of them. Without a goodbye, Clarke grabbed her backpack and pulled Bellamy’s hand through the house and out the front door. How fitting to start and end their day with a quiet car ride. Bellamy was incredibly happy he was not the root of her disappointment at the moment. 

“Fuuuuck,” Clarke moaned, pushing her forehead into the dashboard. 

Bellamy took one hand off the steering wheel and rubbed her back. “At least it’s all out in the open now?”

Clarke pulled herself up, looking miserable. “Our friendship is over. I’ve lost Wells. I ruin everything.”

“Hey, princess, this is not your fault.”

Clarke met his remark with a grimace. 

“I’m serious. Wells has been in love with you since middle school, and you knew. And he knew you knew. And he used it to make you feel badly about yourself, which is shitty. You have the right to like, or not like—“ Bellamy paused— “whoever you want. You didn’t cause this, _he_ did.”

Clarke was quiet. “You never make me feel bad.”

Bellamy smiled. “Good.”

“I’m sorry he dragged you into it,” Clarke muttered. 

“Don’t be. Wells isn’t nearly as vicious as my mother,” Bellamy pointed out. 

Clarke actually laughed. “True, but we’re even. And about what he said--” Bellamy wished he could have looked at her, but kept his eyes on the road as he turned onto her street-- “I couldn’t sleep last night. I know that we are not a good idea, but…”

Bellamy’s hands clenched tighter on the steering wheel and gave one final turn into Clarke’s driveway. “But?”

Clarke reached over and rested her hand on his leg. “I couldn’t say I don’t care about you, because I do.”

Bellamy parked and looked at Clarke: she was gorgeous with moonlight in her hair and a blue glow illuminating half her face. If the center console vanished, he was sure he would be pressed against her by now. Clarke cared about him. What did distance or timing matter when they both felt something big and powerful and brilliant and terrifying? Bellamy put his hand on Clarke’s cheek and she leaned into the touch. Suddenly he understood Romeo’s monologue when he talked about wanting to be a glove on Juliet’s hand— Bellamy would sacrifice anything to hold Clarke. 

“Then what’s stopping us, princess?” His voice was lower than usual. 

“Time. Distance. Looming futures. The fact I don’t deserve you.” Clarke mumbled. 

Bellamy was genuinely confused. “How do you not deserve me?”

“You’re all heart, Bell. You care for everyone in your life so dearly. You’re loyal and hardworking. I’m a mess. I’m selfish. I have a terrible track record with romance.”

Bellamy didn’t realize how deeply Clarke’s low self-esteem ran because she was so confident on stage and during school. Clarke Griffin was a complicated individual. “Clarke, you are the most talented and hardworking person I know. You think people are artists, dancers, singers and piano players naturally?” Clarke sniffled. “I don’t care about your track record. I care about us.”

Clarke’s eyes were intense. She grabbed Bellamy’s hand resting on her cheek and held it with both of her own. “I don’t trust myself with you... yet,” she said, clearly at war with herself. 

That ‘yet’ made Bellamy hope like he hadn’t before. Bellamy could wait for Clarke forever. He doubted any woman would catch his eye, attention and heart the way she did. “I’m not going anywhere, princess.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching to hug him. They both leaned in and embraced for an indeterminable amount of time. 

When Clarke went to bed that night, she slept soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, less drama more fluff! I hope you enjoyed :)


	11. A Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke helps with a surprise for Bellamy's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latest episode (5x03) gave me so much life, y'all. Warnings for the chapter: Underage drinking/ substance use, scenes of a mild sexual nature.

**Chapter Eleven: A Present**

Although losing Wells hurt, it was also a relief. Clarke didn’t realize how careful she had been around him for the last few years. Being aware of his feelings for her was agony, because she felt indebted to keep him as content as possible after he helped her through her father’s trial and imprisonment. True friendship wasn’t compartmentalizing your life and thinking through every word in a conversation to protect their feelings - how could you truly know someone?

Wells ignored Bellamy and Clarke at every rehearsal, which suited Clarke fine. It was better than being cruel, which was Lexa’s mission since their breakup. Clarke made several enemies in her time at Arcadia High School, but didn’t care. She had herself, her art, and Bellamy, what else did she need?

The biggest inconvenience was losing out on some rides home from practice. Wells used to bring her back on the days Bellamy had to leave rehearsal and immediately report to Dropship. It wasn’t that Clarke couldn’t drive, she had her license, but there was a problem with the vehicle itself. Her father’s old Lexus sat in the garage, just waiting for Clarke. Abby gave Clarke the keys on her 17th birthday and registered the vehicle in her name…. She couldn’t bring herself to drive it. 

Once Clarke mustered up the courage to open the front door and sit inside, but the car still smelled like her dad. She noticed his crossword puzzle on the floor of the passenger's seat and there was Clarke’s eighth grade picture taped to the dashboard. She sobbed for over an hour; driving his car made it feel like he was never coming back. 

So, Clarke became friendly with the Arcadia bus system on two or three afternoons a week. She used the time aboard to continue working on Bellamy’s birthday present. Clarke asked her art teacher if she could complete the portrait of Bellamy by the end of the week and have it graded on Friday (a week earlier than the deadline), that way she could present it to Bellamy on Saturday for him to keep. Her art teacher looked concerned about Clarke’s ability to work that quickly, but reluctantly granted her permission. 

Clarke took a picture of Bellamy in his model position, claiming his constant fidgeting was ruining her concentration. In reality, it was so she could work easily outside of the classroom. On the bus Clarke kept a small sketchbook in her possession and would practice different aspects of the piece, like drawing Bellamy’s eye or the texture of the theater wall, his beanie, or trying to capture the rough surface of his skateboard… Once off the bus, she would run home and transcribe her labors onto the real canvas, staying up well into the night Wednesday and Thursday in order to get it done.

She panicked momentarily Friday morning, wondering how she could explain a canvas when Bellamy picked her up in the morning, but she found an old black bag to conceal her work in, claiming it to be extra set pieces for the play. 

“What’s your weekend like?” Clarke asked. 

“Why, got big plans for us, princess?” 

“You are my only friend now,” Clarke reminded him. 

Bellamy laughed. “Working tonight, four to ten. Tomorrow, ten to six, and same Sunday.” 

“Do you want to come by my place after work? I have something for you.” Clarke said, purposely vague. 

Bellamy’s imagination ran wild for a moment (him and Clarke alone at her house), but he managed to recover. “Sure, should I bring pizza?”

Clarke looked at him exasperatedly. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll bring it.” 

When they arrived at school, Clarke jumped out of the truck before Bellamy cut the engine. 

“Where are you going in a hurry, princess?”

“I have to give this stuff to Mrs. Greene!” Clarke cried over her shoulder. Bellamy shook his head lightly; that was far more energy than he possessed at 7:25 in the morning. 

Clarke jogged toward the theater, and when she was positive Bellamy could not longer see her, cut toward the art classroom. She arrived slightly out of breath, and her teacher looked alarmed when Clarke skidded to a stop in front of her desk. “I...finished… the-”

“Catch your breath, Clarke!” 

Clarke nodded and gulped down a few mouthfuls of paint-tinted air. “Sorry. I finished my portrait.” Clarke unzipped the black bag and pulled out the canvas with Bellamy’s bust in all its glory. 

The teacher made a small noise of shock. “Clarke, that’s beautiful. I’m very impressed you got this done in time.” Clarke nodded non-committedly, uncomfortable in the position of being complemented. “I would love to hang it in the art show at the end of the year.”

Clarke swelled with pride. “Well, I’m giving it to him.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it. If he brings it back for the art show week, we can put it up.” 

“Thank you,” Clarke said. “Can I pick it up after school?” She was anxious that her gift for Bellamy stayed secret until its unveiling.

“You have me for sixth period,” Mrs. Cartwig said confused.

“Right, it’s just I wanted to keep it a surprise? Until he sees it, I mean.” 

Her teacher smiled knowingly. “Understood. I’ll be around until 4:00 today, any time before then will work.” 

Clarke left the art room and walked to first period with a spring in her step. When she talked with Octavia earlier in the week, she relayed that Bellamy hated when people bought him gifts; he was simple and didn’t need anything flashy. He still used a flip phone, for god’s sake. So Clarke easily settled on a handmade gift. Octavia made her promise to send a picture when it was done, which she had done last night around 2:00 in the morning. 

**Octavia 5:30am  
OMG !!!!! That’s AMAZING. He’s going to DIE.**

Octavia also added many crying smiley faces and hearts. Octavia, Finn, Wells, and it seemed like more and more of the student population, were convinced Bellamy and Clarke were together, albeit not publicly. The rumors didn’t bother Clarke the way the same rumors about her and Wells did for the past several years. At least this time, she did have feelings for the other party involved. Also, as a last quarter senior she was tired of the Arcadia High School gossip mill; she didn’t have the energy to correct people’s assumptions. 

At rehearsal later that day, the whole cast worked on their background blocking for scenes and Mrs. Greene sent Clarke and Bellamy to the green room to work on his “Sandy” song. Clarke started to plop out the notes on the slightly out-of-tune practice piano, when Bellamy spoke over her. 

“You know you’re terrible at keeping secrets, right?”

Clarke stopped playing. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird all day. You ran out my truck, you didn’t come to lunch and during art you mysteriously had to help Mrs. Greene with set pieces.” That last one had been a poorly constructed lie, Clarke had to admit. Especially since Clarke entered the theater at the beginning of rehearsal and Mrs. Green said, “Clarke! Don’t you look nice today,” making it quite clear the two had not seen each other yet. 

“You’re avoiding me.” He said dully.

“No!” Clarke exclaimed, grabbing his hand with hers. “Definitely not trying to avoid you.” 

The pair were silent for a moment as Bellamy looked down to their entwined hands. “You’re hiding something,” Bellamy concluded. 

Clarke winced. “Maybe.”

“Come on, out with it, princess.” He sounded slightly worried, despite the smile on his face.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was something good? And you’ll know soon, just not yet?” Clarke pleaded. 

“I come from a house of secrets, and they’re never good,” he explained. 

Clarke sighed, that was fair. “I’ve been working on a birthday present for you.”

Bellamy’s eyes bulged. “How did you find out about my birthday?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You forget I’m friends with Octavia too.” 

“She must of told you I hate my birthday.”

“Yes.”

“And that I hate birthday gifts.”

“Yes.” Bellamy gesticulated wildly as if to say ‘then what are we talking about!’

“I didn’t buy anything, I made it,” Clarke huffed, taking her hands back from Bellamy’s grasp. “And I wanted to give it to you tomorrow, but now you’re being an ass, so I have half a mind not to give it to you at all.”

Bellamy softened, he could never stay annoyed with Clarke. Especially when she got adorably flustered. “I’m sorry. Homemade presents are great.” Suddenly, it clicked into place. “Wait, did you draw me?” he asked excitedly.

Clarke glared at him, then pointedly kept playing the piano. 

“You totally drew me,” Bellamy said. 

“You missed your entrance,” Clarke said, restarting the measure. Bellamy decided to drop the subject, and practiced his song instead, grinning the entire time.

***

Clarke was not a girl that spent long amounts of time on her appearance, yet she found herself pouring over YouTube tutorials on ‘how to contour’ and ‘create a smokey eye’ on Saturday night. Her stomach was bursting with nerves, and she tried to reason with herself: she saw Bellamy every day. He saw her sweaty at rehearsal, grouchy in the morning, and exhausted on the way home, and he still liked her. She didn’t need to impress him to win his affection. But Clarke still felt a driving urge to walk into his party tonight looking like a smokeshow. 

Several hours later, her doorbell rang and she skipped steps down her steep foyer to answer the door. Abby naturally, was gone. Clarke was beginning to suspect something other than work was keeping her mother away. Abby used to be home on weekend nights, but now was suddenly absent. Clarke imagined she found some poor, stuffy man to keep her occupied and shuddered. Gross. 

“Hey-” Bellamy started when Clarke opened the door, but stopped in his tracks. He looked Clarke up and down to the point where her cheeks started to color red. “You look… you look…” He struggled to find the words. Clarke had on her one tight, black dress that stretched over her thighs and scooped low on her chest, which Clarke usually buried under layers or heavy sweaters. The sleeves on the dress were pulled up to free her forearms. Her naturally wavy, slightly unmanageable hair was trained into perfect ringlets, and her eyes were rimmed with dark makeup, bringing out their amazing coloring. Bellamy paused at her feet, still donned in her traditional Converse and smiled. “You look incredible.” 

“Thanks,” Clarke said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Come in.”

“I feel underdressed,” Bellamy joked, gesturing down to his red Dropship uniform. 

“I had Octavia and Lincoln drop off another outfit for you,” Clarke said breezily, walking them toward the kitchen. 

“What exactly does this night entail?” Bellamy asked hesitantly. 

“Right now, it entails eating pizza,” Clarke said, taking out two plates and clicking on her portable speaker. They sat at the clean, modern dining table and Bellamy almost laughed seeing Clarke so dolled up and shoving greasy pizza into her mouth. 

“Classy,” Bellamy said as she wiped a small spot of sauce from her chin. 

“I’m hungry,” Clarke said sternly. “You think all this-” she gestured to herself “-happened immediately? I’ve been working on this for hours.” 

“I’m not complaining,” Bellamy said honestly, eyeing her dress as it folded and dipped lower when she reached for another slice out of the box. 

“Well then you’re finally getting the hang of acting,” Clarke said smugly. 

Bellamy scowled. Once Clarke finished most of the Dropship offerings, she wiped her hands and looked critically over at him. “Are you ready?”

“Sure, princess.” Clarke grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs to her room. She spent some time before Bellamy appeared working on the big reveal. She set up her easel with the finished canvas and hung some white Christmas lights around its legs to provide visibility without the overhead light. (Too much fluorescence tainting the shading of the piece. Not that Bellamy would notice, but it would bother her the entire time.)

They reached Clarke’s door and she blocked his entrance. “I present to you, Bellamy Blake, your birthday present.” Clarke twisted the knob and held up her arm gesturing Bellamy to enter first. 

Bellamy was overwhelmed. He felt tears inexplicably prick to the back of his eyes as he took a few steps closer to Clarke’s art. There he was - beanie on and leaning against his skateboard like it was the only thing keeping him up. His mouth was pulled up into a half smile and his eyes were glancing in the distance, twinkling with warmth; Clarke managed to capture the way he looked at her. Bellamy wanted to reach out and touch it, but knew better than to mess with a canvas covered in charcoal. 

“What do you think?” Clarke managed to sneak around him and stand behind the easel. She was biting her thumb, looking for his reaction, but Bellamy found himself struck wordless for the second time that evening. 

The only thing he could think to do was to take two large steps forward and wrap his arms around her small fame tightly. He buried his face into her hair and squeezed until he could lift her up. Clarke chuckled and held onto his midsection with diligence. “So you like it?” she asked once he lowered her back to the ground, still keeping his hands on her hips. 

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he said earnestly. “How did you finish it in time?” He traced his fingers lightly over the corners of the piece, not being able to help himself. 

“I stayed up the last few nights..” Clarke trailed off sheepishly. Bellamy withdrew his hand to look back at her. “And I sealed it, by the way. So it won’t smudge if you touch it.”

His voice was raw with emotion. “Thank you, Clarke.” 

“Of course,” she said, shrugging off his gratitude. All he wanted to do was to pull her face to his, walk her backwards onto the bed and show her how much he appreciated what she did for him. Not just the painting, but seeing him as something other than the “troubled kid” or the “angry guy.” His chest felt like it would rupture with his affection if he didn’t do something. 

Then, Clarke’s phone dinged. The noise seemed to break Bellamy’s trance as Clarke left his embrace to find her iPhone buried within the blankets of her bed. She opened a text and then smiled. “It’s time for phase two.” 

Bellamy would be perfectly happy to stay here alone with her in phase one. “What’s phase two?”

Clarke smiled mischievously. “Get changed. We’re going out.”

“You know how I feel about surprises,” he reminded her. 

“I do.” Clarke nodded sympathetically. She stepped closer to him and trailed a finger down his chest. “But I have a feeling you can’t challenge me while I’m wearing this dress.” 

Bellamy swore under his breath. 

“Meet you downstairs!” She chirped, turning and closing the door behind her. Bellamy noticed a folded outfit on her bureau. He pulled on the dark jeans and dark shirt (at least they weren’t any ridiculous, flashy clothes) before following Clarke to the lower level. 

When Bellamy arrived, she was smacking her lips together in a mirror, coating on a darker lipstick. Like he needed any more invitation to stare at her. “Ah, did you unplug the lights?” 

Bellamy stared dumbly at her. Apparently that was his role this evening. “Uh, no.” 

“I got it, no worries. Want to meet in the truck?”

Bellamy found himself nodding, even though he had no idea where they were going. He walked out of the large house, trying to mull over everything that happened in the last half an hour. Clarke was dressed up, slaved over a piece of art for him for his birthday, and he did _not_ kiss her. Right. Sure. Good.

Moments later she joined him in the truck. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t know where we’re going,” Bellamy reminded her.

“Right. To Nathan’s!” She cried, clicking on her seat belt. 

“Nathan’s? Since when do you talk to Nathan?” Bellamy said incredulously.

“Since about a week ago.”

“Unbelievable,” Bellamy muttered under his breath. He clicked through the radio stations, skimming past the Top 40 and Country stations. He finally settled on a local Alt Rock channel, currently playing the Killers. 

Arcadia was finally starting to heat up.. Bellamy cruised the backroads with his windows down and Clarke started enthusiastically singing along: _“I don’t mind if you don’t mind, Cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine! Before you go, can you read my mind?”_

Bellamy looked over and Clarke looked so _free._ On stage she was calculated and powerful, and usually together she held back a small piece of herself so she wouldn’t cave into their ill-fated attraction. But right now, with her eyes screwed up and her mouth fully open to release the joy within, Bellamy was certain he was unequivocally in love with her.

The song finished as they reached Nathan’s house and Clarke caught her breath. “Bravo,” Bellamy said happily. His smile dimmed when he noticed all the cars in the parking lot. “Clarke,” he said in a warning tone. “Is this a party?” Suddenly her attire made sense. 

“Perhaps,” she said demurely, exiting the vehicle. She rushed around to open Bellamy’s door for him and offered her arm, like a true gentleman. 

“Isn’t that my job?” He asked amusedly. 

“Eh, when you date girls and guys that line is pretty blurry,” she said easily. 

Bellamy laughed. “If this was a party, who would be here?”

“Good question,” Clarke said, leading him to the front door. “Let’s see.” 

Bellamy opened the door. 

“SURPRISE!” People jumped out from behind every conceivable hiding place. On a cursory glance, he noticed Nathan, Monty, Octavia, Lincoln, some co-workers from Dropship, and countless other people from school. Clarke wrapped her arm around his waist and helped steer him to Nathan. 

“Hey boss, happy birthday.” Nathan grinned and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I hate parties,” Bellamy said, smiling regardless. 

“Well everyone else in their right mind loves ‘em,” Nathan winked. “Take a drink,” he pushed a cup into both of their hands. “We may have started without you. Turn the music back on!” he called to some invisible DJ and heavy base started trembling through the floorboards. “You’re welcome.” Nathan disappeared to the living room, and most people followed his lead. 

“You better stick with me tonight,” Bellamy said darkly to Clarke, eyeing the already tipsy mass of acquaintances. Honestly, he only cared about Octavia, Clarke, Nathan and by extension for the sake of his sister, Lincoln. The rest of the people here he could do without. 

“Come on, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding. Let’s have some fun.” Clarke pulled Bellamy into the living room and downed the cup in her hand. She twirled around his arm until her back lightly pressed against his front and his arm was draped across her chest. Bellamy did not dance. Well, yes he danced in the show, because it was choreographed and necessary to graduate, but he never danced or attended parties like this. 

Clarke could sense his hesitation and turned around. “What’s wrong?” She yelled over the music.

“I can’t dance,” he shouted back.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Follow me,” she said and guided his hands to her hips. The fabric of her dress was thin and he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. She stepped impossibly closer and rested her small hands on his chest, swaying to the sultry beat. 

Jesus, was she trying to kill him? Bellamy tried to let go of his hesitation and lose himself in this moment with Clarke. He polished off the red cup in his hand, hoping a buzz would help. 

“See, you’re getting it!” Clarke leaned up to whisper in his ear. Her breath tickled and Bellamy felt, not for the first time that night, a strong desire to push his lips against hers. Screw their imminent demise, screw her feeling inadequate, screw their fucked up families. 

“Clarke-” Bellamy started, pulling back to look in her eyes.

“You guys want to play pong?” Nathan interrupted. Bellamy cursed under his breath, which was lost easily among the loud music. 

“Up to you, birthday boy,” Clarke said, pressing against Bellamy’s front and linking her arms around his neck. God, if they stayed this close Bellamy knew he couldn’t help himself. Maybe distance would be good. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Clarke smiled, happy that he was partaking in the festivities. 

Walking outside, Clarke scoped out the scene. Various couples were paired off and sitting on the ground or in folding chairs around a fire pit. A few guys were playing catch in the dull porch light and there were several collapsable tables set up with red solo cups. 

Nathan led the way to a table on the left, where another boy was already waiting. Clarke didn’t recognize him, and Nathan dragged him over to her. “Clarke, this is my boyfriend Bryan. He goes to Azgeda. Bryan, Clarke.” 

“Hey!” Bryan said brightly, giving Clarke a hug. He pulled back and took in her face. “Wait, I think I recognize you…” he trailed off. 

Clarke sighed. “Do you know Raven Reyes?” 

Bryan’s eyes widened. “Oh, yup. That’s it. I saw you on snapchat.” 

“Anyway,” Bellamy cut in, putting his arm possessively around Clarke’s waist. “I think we get first throw.”

“Absolutely,” Nathan said. The couples took to their respective sides and Clarke saw Nathan rebuke Bryan quietly for bringing up her past. At one point it would have bothered her much more than it did now, but with Bellamy’s arm around her (and one drink inside of her) Finn and Raven felt like a distant memory, like another life. 

Bellamy took the lead setting up their cups into a perfect triangle, while Clarke brushed off the ping-pong balls. Bryan sheepishly walked over to their side with two drinks in his hand. “Hey, sorry. I wasn’t trying to be a buzz kill,” he said, offering the beverages as an olive branch.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarke took the drink and immediately sipped. 

Bellamy nodded at Bryan, but said nothing. Once he walked back to Nathan, Bellamy whispered, “They’re going down.” 

Clarke laughed. “So confident.” 

“We have the edge of sobriety.” Bellamy gestured to Nathan, who crossed his own feet and stumbled slightly. Bryan grabbed him by the upper arms to straighten him and they laughed together. 

“For now,” Clarke said, taking another sip of her frothy, cheap beer. 

The game began and Bellamy immediately sunk his first throw. Bryan took the cup and downed its contents, shaking his head afterward. 

The other boys were not as skilled, taking nearly six rounds until they finally landed a ball in one of the cups. They celebrated like Super Bowl champions and even Bellamy cracked a smile as he drank the cup in one, quick sip. By this point, Bellamy sank a cup almost every round, resulting in two cups being taken away at a point, leaving only four cups for their team. Clarke had not yet made a shot. 

“Why don’t you go first this time, princess,” Bellamy said, handing her the small yellow ball. 

Clarke frowned. “It won’t help. I’m terrible.”

“You are,” Bellamy agreed. “It’s a great change of pace for me.” 

Clarke indignantly slapped his arm. She took her stance and lined up the shot, closing one eye like she saw in movies. She released the ball harder this time, and managed to sink it into the front cup. She let out a whoop. Bellamy picked her up and spun her around, while Bryan and Nathan cheered through their inebriation. 

Bellamy also made his shot, resulting in getting the balls back. Clarke missed, which she anticipated. The last shot was a fluke, not based on skill. Bellamy landed his and Clarke kissed him on the cheek. He looked taken aback, but pleased. 

Even though Clarke did not need to drink any of the cups on the table, she sipped her own beer throughout the game, resulting in a pleasant warm sensation underneath her skin. Bellamy easily made his turn, leaving one final cup. Nathan and Bryan understood the futility of trying to win, and threw the balls with reckless abandon, not aiming or really caring to see where they landed. 

Clarke went first again. She took a deep breath and Bellamy came behind her. He put his hands on her hips and whispered, “relax,” into her ear. The flesh on her right side stood at attention and chills ran down her spine. Bellamy nearly pressed against her was not a relaxing sensation. It made her want to clear off the sticky beer pong table and push him back into it. 

Clarke threw the ball, holding her breath... and made the shot. “Yes!” She cried out, pumping her fist in the air. 

“Way to go, princess!” Bellamy cried, hugging her from behind and kissing her cheek. 

Nathan and Bryan stumbled over. “Congrats! And can I just say you two are adorable,” Bryan said, gesturing with his finger to Bellamy and Clarke’s embrace. “Cutest couple other than me and Nathan,” Bryan added, pecking Nathan on the cheek. Nathan look up to Bellamy, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“We’re not…” Bellamy trailed off, removing his arm from Clarke. 

“Thanks!” Clarke cut in, smiling. She couldn’t bare to hear the tone of disappointment in Bellamy’s voice. 

She was the only thing keeping them apart. Yes, there were the logical problems, like her leaving, but she was starting to think they didn’t matter that much; they only mattered because she said they did. If she turned to Bellamy right now and told him to be with her, he would. _So what is stopping you?_ A voice hissed. 

_You ruin everything you touch…_

“I’m going to get another drink,” Clarke said suddenly, needing to move and distract herself from her thoughts. 

“I’ll come,” Bellamy said automatically. Once they reached the house, Bellamy stepped in front of her. His size and status as ‘Birthday Boy’ made people clear a path while shouting birthday wishes at him. 

“What will it be? Beer or mystery juice?” 

“Mystery juice,” Clarke answered, figuring it would be stronger and take effect more quickly than the watered-down beer. 

“A bold choice,” Bellamy said grinning. He poured her a cup and opened a can for himself. 

“Happy birthday, big brother,” Octavia called out, snaking her way through the crowded kitchen. She threw herself into his arms and he hugged her back. 

“As a birthday gift to me, can you not throw up tonight?” Bellamy said back, all concern and no mirth. 

“I’m not even drinking,” Octavia said rolling her eyes. “Me and Lincoln are DD for anyone that needs it. You’re welcome,” she said, crossing her arms. 

“Good,” Bellamy said back, his smile returning. 

“Clarke oh my god, you look amazing.” Octavia’s eyes widened. She grabbed Clarke’s hand and spun her around to admire the look at all angles. Octavia let out a low whistle. “Why do you hang out with my ugly brother?” 

“It’s my birthday!” Bellamy cried out. 

“On Tuesday,” Octavia reminded him. “So I’ll make fun of you tonight all I want.” Lincoln snuck in behind Octavia and made obligatory greetings. 

“Did you flip over Clarke’s art?” Octavia asked suddenly. 

“It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” Bellamy said honestly. Clarke’s could feel a tide of emotion threatening to pull her under. She finished her drink and poured herself another. 

“I knew you would think so!” Octavia squealed. “Don’t expect my present to be so creative.”

“O, don’t get me anything.”

“Too late!” She sang. Lincoln subtly stroked his hand down her back, signaling their exit. “You two have fun. Text me when you want out!” Octavia said, disappearing into the throng of people. 

Clarke made quick work of the drink in her hand, reaching for another. Bellamy caught her wrist. “Slow down there, princess. You know how much I hate vomit.” 

“I’ll drink it slow,” Clarke promised, pouring the next cup. 

“What’s the rush?” Bellamy asked, trying to mask his concern. 

“Nothing,” Clarke pretended to smile. 

“Clarke,” he said seriously. “Don’t lie.” 

Clarke took a deep breath. This moment felt important, stretching out in front of her like a fork in a path. She could brush Bellamy off and get drunk(er), potentially making a fool of herself yet again at an Arcadia party. Or… 

Or she could say something. She could silence the dark thoughts and doubts in her head and be honest. 

“Can we go somewhere quieter?” Clarke asked. Bellamy looked completely concerned now. 

“Of course, cummon.” Bellamy grabbed her hand and led her back through the foyer and up the stairs. He navigated the hallways with ease and pulled Clarke into a clean, uninhabited bedroom. “This is a guest room,” Bellamy explained. “What’s up?”

Clarke sat down on the edge of the bed. Where to begin? The alcohol was making her brain a little fuzzy, but also less inhabited. The dark, destructive voices were gone, which Clarke took as a positive sign. “I keep making excuses for us to not be together.” 

Bellamy sat down next to her gently, as if sitting too hard would jerk her out of this emotional place and halt the conversation. 

“But I like you, Bellamy. I like you a lot. And that scares me because of my past and because of the future, but I don’t even know if I’ll get into a program, or where I’ll be in a few months… But I don’t know if it matters,” Clarke finished fiercely. “If you feel like I do we can work it out. If you want me,” she finished quietly. 

Bellamy wasn’t sure if he heard Clarke right or the beer was manifesting his deepest desires. “So… you’re in?” he asked slowly. 

Clarke grinned, “I’m in.” 

That was all the encouragement Bellamy needed. He put his hands on either side of Clarke’s face and leaned forward, finally closing the gap between them. Clarke moaned once they made contact, and Bellamy realized she must have been waiting as long as he had to do this again, the proper way. No stage, no script, no Mrs. Green giving direction. 

Clarke buried her hands in Bellamy’s hair, pulling slightly to change the slant of his mouth. Bellamy slid his hands around her waist encouragingly and Clarke took that as an invitation to resituate herself on his lap, with one leg over each of his hips. Her tongue slipped in between his lips and she heard him catch his breath; she was instantly obsessed with the sound. She wanted to figure out everything she could do to elicit such a reaction from him. She couldn’t get enough of him, and pushed her hips into his at a slow, gruelling pace. 

Bellamy pulled his mouth away to trace a path of open-mouthed kisses down Clarke’s neck, his hands trailing up to cup the underside of her chest as his mouth dusted over the top if her low neckline. Clarke threw her head back, shutting her eyes to forget where she began and Bellamy ended. If she had known it would be this good, she would have cracked a few weeks ago. 

Clarke suddenly pulled herself back up right and used her hands to push Bellamy flat on the bed. She leaned down and seared a hot kiss his against is mouth before slithering downwards to pull on his belt buckle. Clarke’s nails scraping the tender flesh under Bellamy’s belly button was able to clear some of the lustful haze from his mind. While her kiss was amazing, intoxicating, he also could recognize the underhint of alcohol and a slight lack of finesse that probably meant Clarke was much drunker than him. “Clarke,” he said out loud, his voice breathless and low. 

Clarke paid no attention, finally opening the belt and now proceeded to work on his jeans. “Hey, Clarke,” he said, sitting up slightly to place his hands on her shoulders. 

Clarke finally relented and straddled his lap once more. “You don’t want it?” She looked very put-out. 

“God, Clarke, _no,_ that's not it. I want you more than anything. Just not like this, drunk at a party in Nathan’s guest room.” Clarke looked around, as if she just remembered where they were. “You deserve more,” Bellamy said, pulling her in for a gentle kiss. 

Clarke melted in his arms. When was the last time anyone told her she deserved anything? Finn fucked her when convenient, she had a couple one-night stands with random camp or Azgeda guys, and then there were her few female conquests, namely Lexa, who treated her like a used cigarette butt. They had only been together for thirty minutes and Clarke was sure Bellamy was the best relationship she ever had. 

“Thank you,” Clarke said, pressing her forehead against his. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, Bellamy holding her as she sat atop of him, heads pressed together, but it felt like a wonderful eternity. 

“You want to go back to the party?” Bellamy asked. Clarke nodded, and tried to stand up. Clarke stumbled to the side, and Bellamy caught her under the arms. “Woah, okay. Change of plans, why don’t you hang out here and I’ll find my sister to drive us home.” 

“But it’s not late!” Clarke whined. 

Bellamy smiled at her and leaned in for one more kiss. “I’ll be right back, princess.” 

Clarke waited, but the alcohol made Bellamy’s absence seem even longer. Her head was cloudy and heavy. Clarke kicked off her Converse and laid perpendicular on the bed, using her arms as a pillow. 

Bellamy came back a few minutes later, frustrated that Octavia and Lincoln were nowhere to be found. He saw Clarke sleeping on the bed and smiled. She looked so soft and peaceful. He disappeared out the door again, asking Nathan if him and Clarke could sleep over. Nathan agreed (whether he would remember that fact in the morning remained to be seen) and Bellamy returned to Clarke. He took off his Vans, shirt and belt before crawling behind her. 

“Clarke,” he said gently to her ear. “Princess,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Mmm,” she moaned. 

“Let’s get under the covers, huh?” 

Clarke nodded blindly without opening her eyes and Bellamy bore the brunt of her weight, shuffling them to the proper sleeping position. He managed to get Clarke under the blanket, and decided to throw a trash can next to her just in case. He turned out the lights, locked the door to avoid random party guests, and climbed into the other side lying flat and replaying the momentous night over and over in his head. 

In a few moments, he heard rustling and Clarke’s head nudged its way onto his shoulder, her arms wrapping around him. How incredibly lucky he felt. He pulled her in closer and kissed her curls, before drifting off to sleep himself.


	12. A Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke faces repercussions from Abby, while Bellamy gets some troubling news.

**Chapter Twelve: A Call**

Clarke awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, only slightly dulled by the darkness of the room. For a moment she panicked, in the way one does when they wake up in a bed that is not their own next to a body they can’t remember falling asleep next to. Bit by bit the night came back and she remembered her and Bellamy’s first real kiss, a smile pulling across her lips despite the dry feeling in her mouth and throat. 

At some point Clarke became little spoon and Bellamy’s arms wrapped around her from behind. She pushed her body back until they were flush against one another, breathing in the familiar scent of him. She was pleasantly surprised to feel his shirtless chest and arms. Clarke continued to fidget and Bellamy drifted into consciousness. 

Bellamy squeezed his arms around her tighter, kissing her neck. “Mmm, good morning, princess.” Clarke felt like she could die of happiness. Such a small, intimate moment was foreign to her. Most of her past relationships never stuck around long enough for cuddling. 

Clarke groaned dramatically to indicate her painful hangover and Bellamy chuckled, a low gravelly thing in his throat. “How do you feel?”

“Like death warmed up,” Clarke said deadpan. 

“You know, if you talked to me earlier instead of drinking your emotions away, you wouldn’t have a hangover.” 

“Thanks for the hot take, Bell,” Clarke attempted to sound annoyed but the use of his nickname gave her away. 

“We could have also kissed sooner,” Bellamy pointed out. Clarke turned around so the pair was face-to-face. 

“Now that,” She said slowly, placing a kiss on the side of Bellamy’s neck, “is a real tragedy.” 

Bellamy didn’t dare breathe as Clarke continued her ministrations. If he flinched maybe he would wake up to find the last twelve hours were a dream after all. He still couldn’t believe Clarke was his, and he was hers. If anything, he thought she may wake up sober and regretful, saying their union was a mistake. But given the _enthusiasm_ Clarke displayed currently as she made her way up to his mouth, he could happily assume she was still on board. 

This morning’s kisses were slower and more sophisticated than the heated mess from the previous night, and Bellamy was impressed at how well they fit together. Other girls he kissed they bumped teeth or knocked wrists against each other, but he and Clarke moved like a synchronized dance that he was always meant to perform. Occasionally they resurfaced for air, but mostly they took time learning one another and trying to elicit verbal reactions from the other person. 

Bellamy had to breathlessly pull away once one particularly heated session where he ended up on top of Clarke, her legs wrapped around his middle and her dress pooled around her hips. He rolled off her and closed his eyes, trying to refocus the blood back into his brain. 

“Why’d you stop?” Clarke came over and whispered in his ear, biting lightly on the lobe. 

With her hot breath tickling his neck, he had no idea. He let Clarke continue for a few moments, before gently tapping her chin to pull her back up to eye level. “I want to do this right.”

Bellamy took in Clarke’s appearance: her hair was mussed from sleeping and their morning activities, her dark makeup was slightly smudged around the corners of her eyes, and her lips were obviously red and swollen. Looking at her face made him want to lay in bed all day with her. 

Clarke smiled. “Okay.” Then, footsteps could be heard tentatively moving around the house. “What time is it?” Not waiting for an answer, she rolled over to find her phone. 

**11 Missed Calls**

**7 New Text Messages**

“Fuck,” Clarke immediately swiped to view the notifications. All of the calls and texts were from her mother. 

“Fuck!” Clarke repeated, sitting up and clicking over to read the messages. 

Bellamy sat behind her and rubbed her back. “What’s wrong?”

“Abby,” Clarke offered as an explanation. 

**Abby Griffin 1:02am  
Clarke, where are you? Are you out with your girlfriends? You didn’t leave a note.**

**Abby Griffin 1:37am  
Wherever you are you need to come home now and return my calls.**

**Abby Griffin 2:04am  
If you don’t return my texts, you will be grounded.**

**Abby Griffin 2:41am  
I’m going to bed, sick with worry about you. We will discuss this in the morning. **

**Abby Griffin 6:53am  
Clarke, I’m worried about your safety. Please come home, I’ll promise to listen and not yell.**

**Abby Griffin 7:11am  
I called Wells to see if he’s seen you, he said no and to call Bellamy. Who is Bellamy? Is he the painting in your room? Why are you not talking to Wells?**

**Abby Griffin 7:31am  
I’ve cancelled my day and will be at home when you come back.**

Abby clearly went through many emotional phases, and Clarke was glad the most recent texts were calmer than the the previous night’s. 

Bellamy read the texts over her shoulder. “I thought your mom didn’t care what you did?” 

“Yeah, as long as she doesn’t know.” Clarke stood abruptly and fixed her askew dress. She searched frantically for her Converse and laced them on. 

Bellamy followed suit and started to pull on his discarded clothes. “Are you going to get in trouble?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke was supremely careful to keep her life separate from Abby’s, never giving her personal information and constantly covering her tracks so she could spend her free time however she chose. Clarke never slipped before. Why hadn’t she left a stupid note? She could have avoided this whole situation.

Bellamy managed to capture Clarke’s hand and pull her close for a hug. “It’s going to be okay, princess.” Clarke paused for a moment and gave in to the touch. _This is what it was like to be supported by a significant other._

“It will,” she agreed. Abby didn’t scare her now like she did when Clarke was a child. In a few months, Clarke would be free from her. What could she really do?

Clarke finished gathering her belongings. “I’m gunna go wash my face, meet you downstairs?” Bellamy nodded and pecked her on the lips before leaving. 

Clarke found her way to Nathan’s bathroom and saw herself in the mirror. _Yikes._ She immediately scrubbed the dark makeup remains from her face. Once she was clean, Clarke looked much less hungover. She found a brush and hastily combed through her curls to smooth them. Clarke eyed the tight dress in the mirror, knowing her excuse of sleeping over a girlfriend’s would not explain her outfit; Abby would know immediately she was lying. Unfortunately the dress could not be helped. Clarke knew she did the best she could and joined Bellamy downstairs.

Nathan was sitting slumped over on a kitchen stool, head pressed against the cool concrete. “You’re not the only one hurting,” Bellamy explained. 

“Good to know. Ready to go?” 

Bellamy nodded. “Thank you, as always Nathan, for your generous hospitality.” Nathan said nothing, but stuck a ‘thumbs up’ sign into the air showing he heard Bellamy’s gratitude. 

Most of last night’s automotive traffic cleared, leaving Bellamy’s truck free to leave. Clarke bounced her knees anxiously as Bellamy started driving. 

“You know, I was thinking I could come in with you,” Bellamy said slowly. 

Clarke laughed with a manic edge to her voice. “Do you have a death wish?”

“I’ll have to meet her sometime,” Bellamy reasoned. “And maybe having me there would be a good buffer.” 

Clarke snorted. “If me as a 13 year old child didn’t stop her from embezzling and committing perjury, nothing can buffer Abigail Griffin.”

Bellamy winced. It was easy to forget Clarke’s complicated family life because she still had the big, nice house and didn’t work 40 hours a week to help pay rent. Clarke’s home life sucked in other ways.

“I still don’t mind.”

“Thanks, I know. But I’d like you to meet her under better circumstances.” 

“Okay.” Bellamy turned on to Clarke’s street. 

“Right here is fine,” Clarke said a few houses before her driveway. “I don’t want her to see your car and like, ban it from driving me to school or something.” 

Bellamy nodded. “Okay, princess. Are you sure I can’t do anything?”

“No.” Clarke said, shaking her head. “I’ll handle Abby, and I’ll see you tomorrow?” It was a hopeful question. 

“Of course.” He kissed Clarke gently over the center-console, like he pictured doing so many car rides before. The good-bye felt natural, but sad. He wasn’t ready to part with her so soon after declaring their couplehood; he was sure his bed would feel empty tonight. Clarke exited the truck and waved behind her, before cutting through a neighbor’s yard to reach her front door. 

Bellamy drove away reluctantly. He felt guilty sending Clarke to face an angry parent alone. If he was protective before, it was nothing compared to how the feeling multiplied since he kissed her (not that Clarke needed protecting). 

Bellamy checked his truck’s faded digital clock, it was 9:15. He had just enough time to change into his uniform at home before working 10-6 at Dropship. Indra wouldn’t mind if he came in late, but Bellamy didn’t want to negatively impact his possibility of a promotion. 

Clarke finally reached her front door and wondered for a moment if she should call Bellamy and have him come in with her, but set her chin and decided against it - she was as tough as her mother. She opened the door and walked in. Abby was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through some type of family album. Her phone was face up next to her hand, clearly anticipating a call. For a moment, Clarke felt remorseful. 

“Hey, mom.” Abby enveloped her in a hug. Clarke forced her body to relax and wrap her arms back around her mother’s form, even though it felt starkly aberrant. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” Abby whispered against her hair. A pause. “You smell like alcohol, Clarke.” The face scrub didn’t help, apparently. Clarke was sure last night’s mystery juice was slowly leaking out her pores. 

Clarke saw Abby’s expression change from worried and grateful to lawyer. “Were you drinking, Clarke?”

“I didn’t drink and drive,” Clarke tried to positively spin her illegality. 

“Well I thank god I’ve raised you better than that. Where were you?” Abby scanned her up and down, pausing over the hemline of the short, tight dress. Clarke decided the best course of action was to tell (most of) the truth, leaving Bellamy out of it to preserve her mother’s first impression. 

“Nathan Millers’ house.”

“Do I know Nathan?”

Abby’s tone made Clarke feel like she was one of the crooks Abby’s firm defended. “I don’t know. I’ve gone to school with him since third grade, so probably.” 

“What were you doing at this boy’s house? Was there a party?”

“Yes.”

“Were his parents home?”

“No.”

“And you drank.” This was not a question. “Did you have sex?” 

“Mom!”

“Well clearly you were trying to impress someone with that outfit, Clarke.” Clarke glared at her mother and wanted to scream expletives, but held her tongue. “Who is Bellamy?”

Clarke let out one dark chuckle. Typical. Of course Abby didn’t remember the mornings Bellamy picked her up or their conversation about his role in the play. “He drives me to school every goddamn morning.” 

If Abby was taken aback, she didn’t show it. “Well I don’t know what has gotten into you Clarke, but clearly that boy is a bad influence. This behavior has never shown itself before.” 

“You haven’t been paying attention!” Clarke cried out. “I’ve been drinking since sophomore year! I lost my virginity at 15! I never ‘go out with my girlfriends’! I’ve always been at parties! You’ve never acted like a fucking parent before and given a shit about where I am. So the one time I don’t lie to make it easier for the both of us, you assume it has something to do with Bellamy, and you’re wrong. He told me to STOP drinking!” 

Abby’s composure started to slip, anger cutting through the small wrinkles on her face. “Go to your room.”

Clarke had multiple biting remarks on her tongue, but turned on her heel and went upstairs, slamming her door. Bellamy’s canvas was still displayed from the night before, so she took the painting and carefully stowed it next to her desk, collapsing her easel and wrapping the Christmas lights into a neat spiral.

**Clarke 9:42am  
I hate her.**

**Bellamy 9:45am  
Are you in trouble?**

**Clarke 9:47am  
Not sure yet.**

**Bellamy 9:58am  
...Is it lame to say I miss you?**

Clarke grinned despite her underlying aggravation and an unfamiliar flutter passed through her chest. 

**Clarke 9:59am  
Yes. **

**Clarke 10:00am  
But I miss you too. So.**

After Clarke’s message sent, Abby entered the room without knocking. She looked around Clarke’s walls and sat herself in the rotating desk chair. 

“I thought about what you said. Things have been difficult since your father…” Abby trailed off, searching for the right words. 

“Took the fall for you?”

“Since your father was incarcerated, yes. I’ve had to rebuild the family reputation and work more hours to support us. And I realize I haven’t been as… attentive as I used to be. Mostly, because I trust you to be the smart young women we raised you as.”

“Is that it? Nothing else keeps you from the house?” Abby froze, not expecting this comment. Clarke smirked; catching her in a lie meant Abby didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to disciplining Clarke.

“That is not what this discussion is about.”

Clarke laughed. “So keeping things from each other is okay when you do it, but you expect me to tell you everything?”

“That is different. I am your mother.” 

“THEN ACT LIKE IT!” The room was silent. Clarke took several deep breaths, trying to clear the red from the tinges of her vision. Abby wiped an invisible tear from the corner of her eye. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this from you, Clarke. I’ve feed you, clothed you, paid for all your dance and voice lessons, given you a car, tutors, whatever you’ve needed to succeed.” 

“I needed _you_.” The small confession was said lowly, and Abby met Clarke’s eyes with uncharacteristic sorrow. “When dad left, you did too. I needed someone.”

Abby sighed. “Things are going to change around here.”

“I move out in four months.” 

“Yes, you do. You’re a young woman now and not a child, and I’m not going to treat you like one. I’m not going to ground you, you’re eighteen. But I would like to try and repair our relationship before I lose you.”

This was the most emotional Clarke had seen Abby in four years, and it struck a chord in her. Of course she wanted to be on better terms with her mother, what girl doesn’t want that? “You’re not going to lose me.” 

Abby smiled sadly. “No, but I want to take advantage of this opportunity we have now. How about from now on I drive you to school?”

Clarke’s gut reaction was: _No, Bellamy drives me to school._ But she tried to picture how she would feel about that choice six months from now….a year....five years? 

“Okay.” 

“And why don’t we try and get at least two meals together a week, hm?” Clarke nodded in agreement. “I would like to meet this Bellamy properly. Why don’t you invite him over for dinner some time this week?” Again, Clarke’s first instinct was to point out Abby was hiding a relationship from her, but chose to let it drop. 

“He works everyday after school.” 

Abby nodded in a approval. “I appreciate a good work ethic. Next weekend then? I’ll clear my calendar. And please, if you’re going out, let me know where you’re going. And be smart and _safe_.” She added emphasis to the last word, ladening it with heavy meaning. 

Clarke flushed with embarrassment. “You know I’m on the pill.” 

“I do, but there are other ways to get hurt.” Abby put a hand on Clarke’s cheek and looked over her face as if to memorize it. After a few moments, she stood up and paused by the door, looking at Bellamy’s present. “That’s truly a beautiful piece of art.” She lightly tapped the door frame once leaving Clarke be. 

That was the most civil conflict Clarke and Abby had in many years. Now that Abby saw the imminence of Clarke’s young adulthood, she was finally treating her like a competent human being. Clarke realized her first instinct still was to attack her mother’s gaping weaknesses, something that wouldn’t help either of them with rebuilding their obsolete relationship. 

Clarke felt many things at once, sitting in her black party dress with a throbbing head. She was relieved that conversation went so well, slightly guilty for the comments she made, annoyed her mom was hiding something from her, surprised at Abby’s emotional display, sympathetic for the pain her mom was feeling, and then there was Bellamy. A grin spread across Clarke’s face. Logically it may be a terrible idea, but emotionally she never felt more certain of a decision in her life. Thinking of her night with Bellamy made her ecstatic. 

Clarke crouched next to her bed and pulled out her paints and a blank canvas from underneath. She dragged her old tarp out of the closet and covered her carpet. Laying down on her stomach, Clarke began to squirt colors onto the blue plastic and swirl them together, attacking the canvas with deep red hues and clear yellows. Each swirl of the brush brought calm to Clarke’s brain and quieted her conflicting thoughts. She lost herself in the expression, and slipped into a narrow frame of focus until her arms ached from holding herself up. 

She wiped a stained hand across her forehead and gently stood from her spot, analyzing the canvas’ contents. The darker colors in the corner represented the confusion around her relationship with her mom, and the bright colors spiraling out in every direction were her unrestrained excitement to be with Bellamy. Clarke snapped a picture and sent it to him, wondering if his old phone could receive pictorial messages.

**Bellamy 12:21pm  
I don’t know what it is, but I like looking at it.**

Clarke grinned. 

**Clarke 12:23pm  
Abstract art: a summary**

**Bellamy 12:57pm  
On lunch break now, can I call?**

Of course Bellamy would be the only person at Arcadia High School who actually called people on his archaic flip phone.

**Clarke 12:58pm  
K grandpa.**

Within moments, her phone vibrated in her hands. 

“I am not a grandpa,” was the first line Clarke was greeted with. 

“Sure, I just haven’t been in a phone conversation since 2010.” 

“That’s a product of the times! I’m a rebel.” Clarke rolled her eyes, which Bellamy could not see. He took a more serious tone. “How did things go at home, princess?”

“Good?” Clarke was still unsure herself. “My mom wants to fix our relationship. She’s going to drive me to school from now on, but I’m not grounded or anything.” 

Bellamy seemed to consider this. “Well, I’ll miss you in the truck, but I’m sure you’ll mooch afternoon rides off me.” 

“Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?” It was the first time either of them used an official label and it hung in the air as a timid step toward vulnerability. 

Bellamy’s smiled reached an embarrassing wideness, and he was glad he was alone in the Dropship employee lounge, which consisted of one plastic white table and four (three operational) metal chairs. There was a small microwave and fridge stacked on top of each other and chipped counter running along one side with empty cabinets below it. “I think so.” 

Clarke was intrigued. “You think?” 

“Never been the boyfriend type before.” Bellamy picked at a small fray in the pocket of his faded gray jeans. 

Without Bellamy’s social media presence, Clarke wasn’t able to dig for information on his past romantic relationships (not that she tried… at night… when she couldn’t sleep…). But it still surprised her Bellamy had never been in a relationship. He always seemed aloof and mysterious in a very attractive way; had a girl really never tried to be with him? 

Bellamy worried as Clarke’s pause stretched longer and longer. “Is that… a problem?”

“No!” Clarke didn’t want Bellamy to feel self-conscious. “Of course not, I’m just surprised that no one has tried to lock you down before.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that, Princess. Just that I wouldn’t before.... Before you.” Clarke appreciated Bellamy’s honesty and hoped she could expose her own emotions as easily. 

“Well I’m honored, Mr. Blake.”

“I guess we should go on… a real date?” Bellamy thought back to this morning and how incredible touching Clarke felt, but he was serious about wanting their relationship to progress in the right way. He wanted Clarke to know how much he cared about her before they jumped into bed together. 

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”

“I mean… that’s how this thing works, right?” Bellamy started pacing around the small room, wondering why suddenly he felt so nervous. 

Clarke laughed. “Usually, yeah. Do you have time to go on a date?” 

“I’ll make time.” Bellamy could cut an hour off of one of his shifts, Indra would grant him that. 

“How about on your real birthday?” 

Bellamy made a face. “I hate my birthday.”

“Well, maybe I can change that.” The comment was light, but with a seductive edge that made Bellamy swallow.

“Okay.” 

“And my mom wants to meet you next weekend or something.” Clarke added this in a hurry, not wanting to intimidate him. 

“Can’t be worse than meeting my mom.” The humor was bleak, but so were they. 

“True! Especially if Abby stays on this nice kick.” 

“I hope she does. Lunch break is almost done, princess. I’ll call you tonight?” 

Clarke’s flutters returned. For someone who hadn’t been a boyfriend before, Bellamy was doing remarkably well at it. “Good.” 

“Bye.” 

“Bye, Bellamy.” After her screen showed the disconnected phone icon, Clarke stared at her screen wishing his voice would magically return. 

The day became a chore of passing the time until Bellamy was off work. Clarke started with cleaning up her art space, and then did some neglected studying for her classes that were still insisting their quarter four seniors produced quality work. Then, she practiced each vocal number from Grease three times and moved to the empty basement to run through dance numbers. 

“Clarke! What do you want for dinner?” 

Clarke bounded over from her spot on the floor to the bottom basement step, seeing Abby’s frame outlined in the light pouring in from the open door. “Thai?” 

“From Mount Weather?” It was the local eclectic restaurant with a full menu including Italian, American, Thai and Sushi. 

“Yeah, chicken pad thai for me!” 

“I’ll call it in now.” Abby’s soft footsteps padded away. The scene was normal for most families, but foreign to Clarke. The last time her and Abby ate dinner together at home was unrememberable. When Abby scheduled their once-a-week meals, she always took Clarke to some trendy place where the portions were tiny and there were constant interruptions. 

**Bellamy 6:07pm  
Another day of saving the world one slice of pizza at a time**

**Clarke 6:09pm  
Not all heroes wear capes**

**Bellamy 6:31pm  
Does everyone else text all the time? Have I just been missing out?**

**Clarke 6:37pm  
Yes. How’s it going on the fossil? **

**Bellamy 6:41pm  
Not great. If we’re going to be in constant contact I may need a bigger keyboard… My thumbs keep hitting the wrong keys**

**Clarke 6:42pm  
That will happen on a T9 word keyboard **

Bellamy pulled off his Dropship shirt and lounged on his bed, staring at Clarke’s message. He wondered what she was doing, what she thought of their new relationship after being so careful and hesitant. 

**Incoming Call  
Unknown Number**

Bellamy frowned before answering. “Hello?”

An official, crisp tone greeted him. “Hello, is this Bellamy Blake?”

“Yes.” 

“Mr. Blake, I’m calling from Arcadia General Hospital. We have Aurora Blake here, and you are listed as her emergency contact.” 

Bellamy’s stomach dropped out of his body. “What happened?”

“Well, it looks like an overdose. We’re unsure at the moment if it was a suicide attempt or not. She’s not cognisant enough to be awake and it may be best if you come down here.” 

Bellamy hung up, pulled on the first shirt he could find, and snatched his keys off the floor. He barged into Octavia’s bedroom, where she was sitting on her bed scrolling through her phone. She looked indignant for a moment, but then saw the expression on Bellamy’s face. 

“O! Let’s go, I’ll explain on the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! Finally :) With a hint of drama, because hey, this is fanfiction. Thank you for all the kudos and comments! I read every single one.


	13. A Visit

**Chapter Thirteen: A Visit**

Clarke never heard from Bellamy, but tried to not let it dampen her otherwise good mood. Clarke had to remind herself Bellamy had many more responsibilities than she did, and this relationship was his first. She would cut him some slack; he was probably busy. 

The car ride to school with Abby wasn’t as terrible as Clarke imagined. She played oldies on the radio barely loud enough to be heard and they struggled through light conversation. 

“What is your day like today?”

“Uh, well. Classes. Then practice until four.” 

“Is Bellamy driving you home?” The question was innocuous enough, but Abby’s eyes were marking Clarke’s response. 

“No. He has work.” 

“Wells?”

“No, we don’t talk anymore.”

Abby was quiet and Clarke almost thought she escaped the conversation unscratched until - “Why not?” 

Clarke sighed, deciding how much of the truth she wanted to share. “He wanted more from our friendship and I don’t see him like that. He didn’t take it well.”

Abby opened her mouth to ask another question, but thought better of it. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Clarke waved her hand dismissively. “It’s kind of a relief.” 

“How will you get home then?”

“Oh, I take the bus.” 

“The school bus?”

“No, the Arcadia bus. It’s fine, I sketch the whole time.” 

Abby looked aghast. “Clarke, you have a car! You don’t need to be riding the filthy city buses.” Before knowing Bellamy and seeing someone with so much less than herself, Clarke never noticed how snobbish her mother could be.

“It’s not that bad, honestly.” 

Abby pursed her lips. “If you’re not going to drive the Lexus I should sell it.” 

The thought of Abby selling off her father’s car hit Clarke like a punch in the gut. “No!”

“Well no one is using it! We can use the money and get you a car you _will_ drive.” Abby’s logic failed to account for Clarke’s emotional attachment to the vehicle; it was her last tie to her father. 

“Please don’t.”

Abby pulled into the student drop-off section at Arcadia High School. “We’ll put a pin in this and discuss it later. I’ll be home around eight, I’ll see you then.” Abby’s remarks were a clear end to the conversation, not leaving room for interjection. 

Clarke left the car after an obligatory goodbye and walked through the school’s gates in a decidedly more upset mood than when she began her morning. Throughout her first period she found herself doodling instead of taking notes. What teacher was still imparting knowledge to seniors six weeks before graduation? Of course her two Advanced Placement courses were still pushing hard for the students to achieve high marks on the exams in the beginning of May, but that made sense. Her first period mandatory Government class? Not so much. All of Clarke’s applications were submitted, what was the worst that could happen now?

Speaking of applications, it was about that time to start hearing back from her choices. She completed in person interviews for NYU on a regional tour in Philadelphia, but had to submit recorded tapes for her other two options: Northwest and North Carolina. Of course, doubt filled her daily thoughts. What if she wasn’t talented enough to receive an offer from any program? What if this production of _Grease_ was her last time on the stage? 

Clarke’s pencil absent-mindedly traced the outline of a 1950’s poodle skirt and then she started on a leather jacket. Her mind drifted briefly to how Bellamy would look in his costume before realizing she hadn’t seen Bellamy at all this morning. 

Her first thought was trivial, but encouraged by her own self-doubt: _what if he was ignoring her? What if he regretted everything and didn’t want to have to break the news to her in person?_ Clarke quickly dismissed the theory, Bellamy was the one who pursued her. 

Then, the panic set in. Bellamy couldn’t miss school. Once Principal Jaha ran the attendance report for the day, Bellamy would lose his ability to graduate from Arcadia, that was the deal. Not to mention today was the first full run through of _Grease,_ that would be difficult to do without a Danny. 

Maybe he was late, Clarke reasoned. If Bellamy appeared before the end of the school day perhaps Principal Jaha would show mercy. Or Wells could be feeding his dad even more damaging information about Bellamy out of spite…

Clarke couldn’t focus for the rest of her morning classes and walked noticeably fast to the lunch room, scanning all the tables for a familiar beanie or mop of curly hair. When no trace of Bellamy was apparent, Clarke searched for Octavia, who would have some idea of her brother’s whereabouts. But both Blakes were absent. Even though Clarke didn’t want to appear clingy, she finally broke down and texted him.

**Clarke 11:37am  
Bell, where are you? **

Clarke sat on a metal bench in the quad, ignoring her rumbling stomach and tapping impatiently on her home screen, closing and re-opening her messaging app every ten seconds. After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was five minutes, Clarke decided to try Octavia, who was much more attached to her technology.

**Clarke 11:44am  
Octavia, do you know where Bellamy is today?**

Another waiting game. Clarke started biting her nails but stopped when the plastic taste of her acrylic paints hit her tongue.

**Octavia 11:52am  
We’re at Arcadia General. Our mom is here. **

The air rushed out of Clarke’s lungs and a thousand questions ran through her head… _what happened? How bad was it?_ Of course the last exchange between Bellamy and his mother wasn’t pleasant, but Clarke was sure he was still distraught over whatever circumstances resulted in her hospitalization; that was the kind of man he was.

Clarke needed a car. She needed to get to Bellamy as soon as possible and be there for him. Even if she just sat in the waiting room, she wanted to be a part of his support system; that’s what girlfriends do, right? Thanks to her own aversion, Clarke did not have her father’s car to drive. The bus wasn’t an option; it didn’t loop near Arcadia General at all. She did have one resource… 

Taking a deep breath, Clarke gathered her backpack and marched toward Wells’ typical lunch table amongst the other drama kids. Walking to the group, Clarke felt a piercing gaze but refused to care about their judgement. Wells sat next to Lexa, and Clarke let that hurt sting in her chest from a moment. Wells knew how toxic and cruel Lexa was after their breakup, but now he crawled to her to join Clarke’s hate club. She thought he was above that, but apparently not. 

“Look, Sandy has decided to grace us with her presence.” Lexa snickered and Wells stared at his lap.

“Can I talk to you?” The table fell silent and watched Wells curiously. The whole group must be aware of what transpired. Yet another set of wild rumors about Clarke’s love life. 

Wells kept his gaze trained downward. “Okay.” 

He made no indication of moving. “Alone,” Clarke clarified. Lexa rolled her eyes, but Wells stood up and wordlessly followed her. The table burst into conversation behind Clarke, but she was beyond the point of caring. 

Clake took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry for any pain I unintentionally caused you. I was so desperate to keep you around as my friend that I may have overlooked signs about how you really felt.” 

Wells still couldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Clarke. I’m the one who never said anything.”

“Our friendship doesn’t have to end,” Clarke offered. She started this conversation with the mission in mind of borrowing Wells’ car, but now this seemed as important. 

“Are you with him?” Wells buried his hands in his pockets and his shoulders tensed. For the first time, he met Clarke’s gaze with critical scrutiny. 

Clarke paused. “I--”

“That’s a yes. I know you too well.” The energy seemed to leave him at once, like the air leaking out of a balloon. “I can’t be around you and him. Not yet.”

“That’s fair,” Clarke affirmed quickly. “I don’t expect you too… but I don’t want you to hate me.” The last part came out as a whisper, trying to offer Wells a small piece of vulnerability after him opening so completely to her.

“I could never hate you, Clarke. Even if I wanted to… and I’ve wanted to.” He cracked a smile that let her know her best friend Wells was still in there. Wells who played video games and catch in the backyard with her. Wells who gave her his shirt in the seventh grade to tie around her shorts when she embarrassingly bled through them. Wells who took her to the homecoming dance her freshman year as a cover so she could actually meet Lexa there without her parent’s scrutiny. Wells who picked her up time and time again. Who tutored her in math and sat still for hours to let her practice sketching.

Clarke’s eyes welled with emotion. “Good.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Wells’ arms stayed straight at his side before he relaxed and laced his fingers behind her back. When they separated, Clarke tried to figure out the best way to switch topics as she wanted (really needed) to do. 

“What?” Wells asked knowingly. “You need something, I’ve known you for ten years, Clarke.”

“I need a favor… can I borrow your car?” 

Wells tilted his head to the side, “when?”

“Uhhh… now?”

His eyes went wide. “When was the last time you drove?” 

Clarke honestly couldn’t remember. Even though she had her license, she so frequently tagged along with other drivers she hadn’t been recently required to drive in a long time. “A few weeks ago,” she lied easily.

“Bullshit. You haven’t driven since November when I got wasted at the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ after-party.” 

Damnit, it was hard to lie to someone who knew your entire history. “Fine, it has been a while, but I have a license and there’s an emergency. Please.” 

Wells lost his look of humorous skepticism. “What’s wrong?” Even though he couldn’t be around her right now, Clarke knew Wells would never stop caring about her well-being, and she would never stop caring about his. 

“Bellamy’s mom is in the hospital.” Clarke expected him to scoff or retreat when she mentioned Bellamy’s name, but to his credit his seriousness only deepened. 

“I’ll drive you after rehearsal.”

Clarke was relieved by his offer, but knew she would be a basket case if she wasn’t able to check on him sooner. “I so appreciate that, but do you think we could go now?”

Wells sucked in a breath. “Clarke, my dad is the principal, you know I can’t ditch class. And how can we do a run through with no Danny or Sandy?”

“You can blame me! I’m sure he knows what a bad influence I am by now anyway. And some things are more important than theater.” 

Wells shut his mouth. “Fine. I’ll drive you there, but I can’t stay or drive you back.”

Clarke smiled, not because she was getting her way, but because for the first time in a few years she was genuinely bickering with Wells without worrying about his feelings. “Understood.”

“Cummon.” Wells grabbed her elbow and started speed walking through the front gates, furtively glancing over his shoulder like a criminal on the run.

“We only have two classes left,” Clarke pointed out as Wells dug for his keys in his backpack.

“I’ve never cut school,” Wells said, fumbling with the unlock button.

“Well now you can say you have.” Clarke slipped into the car and buckled before Wells even opened his door. 

The car ride was jerky and anxious. Wells must have had adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he nearly rear-ended someone when his phone rang and the ID flashed **Dad.** “Shit.”

Clarke rolled her eye. “Want me to answer?”

“No!” Wells swerved the car as he attempted to grab the phone out of Clarke’s hands.

“Okay!”

The car swung as he corrected himself and made his way back within the lines of the lane. “I told him we weren’t speaking and so if you answer I’ll have to field questions on top of him lecturing me about cutting school.”

Clarke bit her lip and looked out the window. It was her fault Wells was not in class right now, but she asked him if she could take the car alone. He could have said no to all of it. She decided to stay silent until he pulled up to the doors. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clarke jumped out of the car and rushed into the entrance, not hearing Wells’ quiet, “good-bye, Clarke Griffin.”

***

Through the front doors, everyone seemed to have a purpose. The waiting room was lined with people in chairs, anxiously glancing at clocks and peering through windows or doors. Nurses bustled around holding clip boards, and Clarke felt for a moment like she was making a mistake. 

“Can I help you?” A busy looking nurse with a tight blonde bun cruised past Clarke and sat herself behind the front desk. 

“Um, I’m looking for Aurora Blake.”

“Patient or staff?”

“Patient.” 

The nurse pushed a few buttons on her keyboard and a dim blue light reflected on her face. “Floor 3, room 100.”

“Thank you.” Clarke never disliked hospitals, but she also never spent much time in them. Everything felt too bright, with white floors, walls and light pouring in through windows. Something about the ever expanding vast whiteness felt temporary; no markers of personality or touches of warmth. Clarke couldn’t help but picture the murals she could paint down the hallways.

Clarke came to abrupt stop in front of the door marked 100. What now? Do you knock on someone’s hospital door? Luckily, she was saved from her perilous decision because the door opened and Bellamy stood in the doorway. 

He stared at Clarke like she was a ghost. “...Clarke?”

“Bellamy, hi. I’m sorry, I was worried when you and Octavia weren’t at school today, and she let me know you were here…” Bellamy still looked astonished and Clarke’s face started to color. Should she have stayed home?

Bellamy took a giant step forward and pulled Clarke into his arms and buried his head into her hair. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief and gently pressed a kiss to Bellamy’s cool neck before wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. His hand knotted in her hair while they stood in the too bright hallway, just feeling the security of one another. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out earlier. I left my phone in the truck, I haven’t gone home or changed.” Their embrace loosened enough for Clarke to peek at Bellamy’s expression. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, mirroring the look she’s seen Abby wear many times. 

“You really don’t need to apologize.” A beat of silence. “How is she?”

Bellamy sighed and rubbed his hand through his curly hair, making it bounce into place with a renewed vigor. “It’s a waiting game at this point. The doctors pumped her stomach and flushed the drugs out of her system, but she’s built such a strong addiction that if she does wake up, she’ll have to go through withdrawal… which she’s never done before. I don’t think she’s gone longer than two weeks without a drink since I was four and my dad left.”

Clarke’s head was dizzy with even more questions and brimming with empathy; she knew what it was like for parents to make choices for themselves before considering you and your feelings. Of course, Aurora was an extreme. Clarke never worried about Abby’s physical condition or when she would ever see her again. 

“I’m so sorry.” Clarke ran her hands down his bare forearms and linked her fingers in between his, casting her eyes downward. Small goosebumps erupted behinder her nail’s path and Bellamy dragged her hands closer before kissing the top of her head. 

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t shoot her up with drugs.” Bellamy chuckled emptily at his dark joke. 

Clarke sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

“Figured I would see you here.” Octavia’s curt tone made the pair step apart. She was laden with every vending machine food imaginable, and promptly dumped them into the one waiting chair outside of room 100. 

“Thank you for texting me,” Clarke said gratefully.

“No problem. Technology and communication aren’t two of Bellamy’s strengths. I figured you needed to know. Lincoln does, he’s coming by after soccer practice.”

At the mention of another extra-curricular activity, Bellamy’s eyes went wide. “Fuck! Rehearsal!” He stepped back and looked Clarke up and down. “You’re here! How the hell can they do anything without the choreographer and lead?”

Octavia snorted. “Good question, Danny.”

Bellamy groaned, burying his face in both hands before spinning and lightly kicking the scuffed baseboard. Clarke caught him in her arms before he swung again. “Hey hey hey, Principal Jaha and Mrs. Green aren’t unreasonable people. I’ll vouch for you. We’ll get a note from the hospital and it will be fine. You don’t need to worry about that right now, just focus on being there for your mom.”

“Principal Jaha must hate me,” Bellamy said deadpan. Clarke winced, that was incredibly possible considering how much trouble Wells would be in when he returned home tonight. But, Bellamy didn’t need to know that right now. 

“It doesn’t matter if he hates you, he just needs to let you graduate.” 

Bellamy looked unconvinced but muttered, “okay.”

Clarke rubbed her hand up and down his back. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“I got food covered,” Octavia pointed out, noisily squeezing a bag of Doritos until they popped open and she could crunch one of the vibrant orange triangles in her mouth. 

“The doctors kicked me out they wanted to take a few more blood samples and test her levels. So… distraction?”

Clarke straightened her back to show how seriously he took her assignment. “Well then let’s go distract you, Mr. Blake.” Clarke stuck out her arm like an old fashioned gentleman and lead Bellamy to the waiting room with rows of poorly upholstered blue chairs with rips and mysterious smudges. The three plopped down unceremoniously and Clarke immediately began rummaging through her school bag to see what could be semi-entertaining.

Clarke’s hand found her Grease script. “You wanna run lines?”

She expected Bellamy to scoff or roll his eyes, but to her surprise he nodded eagerly. “That’s perfect.” 

Octavia raised her eyebrow before devouring another chip. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be excited about theater.”

“It requires focus and I have to have them memorized soon anyway.”

“Technically they were supposed to memorized today,” Clarke said gently. 

Octavia rolled her eyes and look at her brother in a typical sibling fashion, with annoyance and love. Bellamy ignored her. “Well then let’s get to work.” 

Clarke delegated all the extra roles to Octavia, and she performed each with gusto, adapting strange and unplaceable accents for random characters. Octavia held the script and also needed to correct the pair when either of them messed up a line. 

“Uh… what is it?”

“Jesus, Bellamy,” Octavia said. “You know I haven’t had to correct Clarke once, right?”

“Clarke is going to school for theater! She’s done a million shows!”

“That’s true,” Clarke agreed, trying to bite back her grin. 

“Right, well in two weeks you both will be performing, so I would study.”

“That’s. What. I’m. Doing.” Bellamy said through gritted teeth. 

“Okay, how about a break!” Clarke intervened between the two before Octavia could snap back. 

“Lincoln!” Octavia called out, all malice from her voice gone. Lincoln barely made it three steps into the waiting room before she crossed the room and jumped into his arms. Lincoln was still in his soccer uniform and sweaty; he must have skipped showers and changing in favor of coming to see Octavia, which Clarke had to admit was sweet. Bellamy’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Clarke rubbed his knee and he snapped his eyes from the hugging pair to her, softening at her stern gaze. 

“Bellamy Blake?” A young male doctor called. Clarke noticed his name tag read Dr. Eric Jackson. 

Bellamy shot up from his chair. “Yes.” Lincoln and Octavia separated for her to join her brother. Clarke hung back and Lincoln came to sit next to her, they nodded in greeting but turned their attention to the doctor.

“Your mother is awake and stable. If you and your sister would like to visit her, you can.” His gaze was sympathetic and Bellamy and Octavia immediately followed him leaving Clarke and Lincoln behind. 

Bellamy spent so many hours staring at room 100 and his unconscious mother, that he half expected the doctor to be mistaken and to be greeted by her lifeless form. But, when Dr. Jackson opened the door Aurora was propped up on a pillow, face entirely sunken and waxy. 

“I’ll give you all a few moments together, and then there’s something else to discuss.” Bellamy barely registered Dr. Jackson leaving before turning to his mom. 

“Mom, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Octavia walked over and grabbed the hand without tubes protruding from it. Bellamy remained fixed in place. 

“I’m fine, just--”

“Detoxing?” Bellamy cut in. Octavia gave her brother a look. Aurora nodded, clearly too tired to deny him or fight back. 

“You scared me,” Octavia admitted and let a few tears fall down her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean for you two to know,” Aurora said weakly. 

Bellamy’s blood boiled. “No? What was the plan then, huh?”

“Bellamy, please.” Octavia begged. 

“No, I’m curious. You didn’t want us to know you were using again, and you said you were never coming back to the apartment, so what were you going to do for your life? Who were you living with?”

“Stop,” Octavia’s voice was cutting. Bellamy glared at his sister but shut his mouth. Aurora didn’t move to answer any of Bellamy’s questions, but had the sense to look ashamed. 

When Dr. Jackson entered again, it was with a professional looking woman carrying a clipboard against her navy blue skirt suit. 

“Bellamy, Octavia, I’m Callie Cartwig. I’m with Child Protective Services.” Octavia immediately stood and straightened, standing off Bellamy’s right shoulder. Bellamy also stiffened, grinding his nails into biceps. 

When neither teen said anything, Callie took a breath and continued. “I was contacted when the nature of your mother’s injuries were understood by the medical staff… And when you were informed and unknowing of your mother’s condition.”

Bellamy sucked in his breath. That was his fault. He should have made it seem he knew his mom was in trouble on the phone. “I turn 18 tomorrow; I’m not a child. Our apartment is in my name and I make enough to support us.”

Ms. Cartwig’s eyes brimmed with empathy. “That shouldn’t be your responsibility, Bellamy. Once you are officially 18 you will be out of my hands, but Octavia… Octavia will need to be placed with a foster family.”

“Bullshit!” Octavia’s famous temper flared. “Bellamy and I have it under control.”

“The law is the law, Octavia. If your brother wants to gain custody of you, he will have to apply and petition the courts. Tonight, there’s a temporary placement home right in Arcadia that will take you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

Finally Aurora’s small voice croaked in the background. “It’s what’s best.” 

Bellamy could see red. After everything she put them through, after all the messes he cleaned up after, after all the years their mother could have given the siblings to a good home, she waited until now? When Bellamy and Octavia would be separated? He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip the tubes out of her hands and make her detox as painful as possible. He wanted to throw the heaviest piece of medical equipment he could lift out the window. 

“Since when do you care?” Bellamy spat and Aurora recoiled as if physically slapped. 

“I have an office here in the hospital, I can take you both and explain everything.” 

Bellamy didn’t have anything against Ms. Cartwig, she seemed competent and kind. But there was no way on planet Earth that he was letting her do her job and take Octavia from him. “No. You’ll have to get a police escort for us to do anything.” 

Ms. Cartwig sighed. “It will be much easier--”

“You heard my brother,” Octavia said lowly. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Ms. Cartwig exchanged a glance with Dr. Jackson and left the room. Octavia charged out of the room and Bellamy followed after, leaving their mother behind. Octavia stormed into the waiting room and Lincoln immediately sprang up. “What’s wrong?”

“CPS is trying to take me from Bellamy!” 

Clarke stood up as well and crossed to stand next to Bellamy. “Can they do that?”

“Apparently,” Bellamy said in a dangerous tone. “I told them to come back with the police.” 

“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry,” Lincoln offered. And even though he clearly had no idea what to do, Octavia took comfort in his words and pulled him into an embrace. 

Clarke took a deep breath before stating, “I know what we can do.” 

Bellamy’s eyes snapped to her. “What?”

Clarke took out her phone and scrolled until she found the number she really didn’t want to call... 

“Mom? It’s me. I need your help.”


End file.
